


Was This a Good Idea? Probably Not.

by Caellie_E_and_Vaye_Rue_Y



Series: Sanders Sides x SGE Crossover [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Character Development, Classes, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Being an Idiot, Deceit's name is Dolos, Dialogue Heavy, Dolos as Sophie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Flirty Deceit | Janus Sanders, Good and Evil, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Intentional Misgendering, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Logicality doesn't show up until much later, M/M, Magic, Magic School, Manipulation, Manipulative Deceit | Janus Sanders, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patton and Logan are like Keiko and Hester but with more involvement with the storyline, Patton being naive, Pre-Relationship, Roman as Tedros, School, Slow Burn, Sympathetically unsympathetic deceit, Therapist Dr. Emile Picani, Virgil as Agatha, Virgil just wants to go home, Worldbuilding, You do not need to have read SGE, You do not need to know SS either, a few OCs just to fill up some space, and Joan, friendship is hard, listen Dolos isn't very sympathetic to anyone other than heterocishets right now, minor homophobia, more tags to be added I just realized there's more, sloowwww burn, so friendly warning, specifically Talyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caellie_E_and_Vaye_Rue_Y/pseuds/Caellie_E_and_Vaye_Rue_Y
Summary: If all the uniforms they had in the School for Evil were taken from a potato farmer’s storage cabinet after it was bombed by black dye, then Dolos was going to burn this entire school down, regardless of whether or not he was in it. He was supposed to be a prince, and he should be able to look like one. Not like burnt chicken with the skin hanging off. He hated this.Unbeknownst to Dolos, in the School for Good, Virgil was having similar thoughts about his own blue (blue so very, very blue, why was it so blue) uniform. And the curriculum. And his roommates. And this entire place in general. He wanted to curl up in his bed and hide until the sun went away. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Dolos was supposed to be here, his charming, suave, smart best friend. And he himself was supposed to be at home, tucked away in a corner reading fairy tales with his pet cat.And up in his tower, the School Master steepled his fingers. This would be interesting.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Joan Stokes/Talyn, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, One-Sided Deceit/Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Series: Sanders Sides x SGE Crossover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602640
Comments: 241
Kudos: 173





	1. Dolos' Good Feeling Will Probably Be Smashed Soon But He Should Savor it While He Still Can

Ch. 1 Beginnings

Everybody in this town was obsessed with being kidnapped, and Dolos was all for it. What he was not all for was when, instead of being gently awakened by the candle he’d carefully constructed to wake him up at exactly nine o’clock, he woke up to a cacophony of shrieks, clatters, and bangs. At seven. In the morning. Which was entirely too early for anybody to be awake, much less somebody expecting to be kidnapped later that night. His beauty sleep (and future) was at stake here!

He screwed his eyes shut behind his sleep mask. His dreams about fancy galas being thrown in his honor and castles being built just for him were slipping away, being chased by the constant noise. Dolos pushed his sleep mask onto his forehead and glared blearily up at his father, who was busy nailing bars onto the window above his bed. 

“What are you doing? Stop that right now,” he snapped.

“I’m not letting some School Master take anybody tonight,” his father just grunted, speaking around a trio of nails held between his teeth. One of them fell while he was talking and hit Dolos in the forehead. It took all his strength to refrain from cursing. Princes didn’t curse, and he didn’t want his chances to be jeopardized by a silly mistake like that. He did let out a very pointed and annoyed sigh, though, as he swung his legs out of his bed and padded to the bathroom. 

After a quick, but effective, workout (princes had to be strong) followed by a much longer, but necessary, beauty routine (whoever heard of an unattractive prince?), Dolos set about making breakfast. His father tromped into the room, in the midst of tearing open another packet of nails, and paused. “What is…”

“Beets.” They were from last night’s dinner and had grown a bit mushy, but they were still edible. Dolos scooped them into two bowls and added a few slices of avocado with some shredded garlic fish that he had boiled the night before as well. All these contained low amounts of fat and high nutrition, which was very important if one wanted to keep their figure. He slid the bowl over to his father, who looked at it disdainfully.

“You know,” he said. “Brian cooks his mother porridge with grilled ham and eggs.”

Dolos sighed. Yes, Brian often got teased for being the cook in the house. Who ever heard of a prince who cooked? That was a duty for a princess, not a prince! And yet his own father was a horrendous chef, and, what was more, the one time he had let his father cook, his father had served up two huge lambchops, mashed potatoes, and white bread. White bread. Did he not know how many calories white bread contained? Ugh, the nerve! That was over two years ago, and not once had Dolos ever let his father cook again. What a waste. And the extra cost had to be taken out of the new weights Dolos had wanted to buy. So, no, his chances would not be ruined by Brian cooking porridge for his mother every morning. When Dolos cooked, it was an act of kindness. When Brian did it, it was a hidden malicious act that only served to make his mother look frumpy and ball-shaped. 

His father snatched up his bowl and disappeared into another part of the house. The irritating banging started up again soon after. Dolos stepped out of the house and saw that, of course, the other villagers were taking part in doing everything they could to prevent any possible kidnappings. He wasn’t sure what else he’d expected. The children crowded around each other, picking out familiar faces in storybooks. He could see the Mrs. Goodman trying to convince her youngest to pray and her oldest to throw a rock through the church window. Meanwhile, Brian knelt in the dirt with his little sister as they frantically tried to cover up their, admittedly, near-excessive beauty with mud. He scoffed. They’d have nothing to worry about.

He trudged up Graves Hill and heaved a sigh as the sounds of the busy village faded away. They were bad on his eardrums, and no one had ever heard of a prince who couldn’t hear. Besides, he had a different goal in mind.

It was probably considered odd that the person generally considered an angel by the villagers took regular trips to see the menace of the town. But, if they’d only stop to consider it, they’d realize that Dolos would be best friends with Virgil. Only someone as naturally good as Dolos would even think to befriend someone so dark and off-putting, and that was what Dolos was counting on. Of course, their friendship started as a good deed, but Dolos personally thought that they had come a long way since then, and he was sure Virgil thought the same. 

And so that was why he was now walking among desolate graves as he made the long trek to the creepy house in the middle of the graveyard on the edge of the village when he should have been doing extra in preparation for the School Master’s visit. But because he was such a good friend, he decided to pay a visit to the outlier of the village instead.

Virgil was a little high-strung, to say the least, which was why Dolos thought it particularly good of him to be visiting his friend on the day that everybody was running about, worried about being kidnapped. He was surely coming up with every single possibility of things that could go wrong, pacing the floors, something of the sort. That was the kind of person Virgil was, and that was exactly why he was startled when he caught sight of the purple-haired boy sprawled lazily across a porch chair reading a book with his devil of a cat sitting on his chest. 

“Morning, Dolos,” he drawled. Azrael hissed at him, and Virgil laughed, completely oblivious to the mini demon gnawing on the drawstring of his cloak. Dolos gave the cat a look of disgust.

“Hello, Virgil,” Dolos said. He set the basket of baked goods down where he was standing, unwilling to go any nearer with Azrael guarding the house. The cat was a real pest to good Samaritans like himself. “How are you?”

Virgil sent him a sideways look. “I was fine until you showed up,” he murmured, flipping to the next page.

Dolos smiled patiently. “Still putting on that act that we’re not friends?” Virgil just scoffed and focused his attention back to his book. “Is your mother home?”

Virgil shook his head. “Went down today looking for work. Nobody wants to come up here anymore. I guess the atmosphere is too off-putting.”

Dolos couldn’t tell if Virgil was ignorant or simply didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that most of Gavaldon thought Adrestia was a witch. By extension, Virgil was also considered the dark ball of misery and a physical manifestation of all things ominous and evil, but Dolos decided to stay quiet.

“I think her… less-than happy appearance and nature is more off-putting than anything,” Dolos said, trying to be gentle. “So, what plans are you making to drive away the School Master?” Virgil had turned fourteen the week before, Dolos remembered (they celebrated with gluten-free honey cakes with purple icing that was, as he could recall painfully clearly, a shade brighter than what Virgil preferred), putting him squarely in the range of ages that the School Master took. Dolos himself was a few months older, not to mention Virgil was a bit perfect for the School for Evil. And, if he said so himself, it was kind of poetic (since he himself was obviously destined for the School for Good), that they’d be on opposite sides. They’d be bound to get themselves a storybook with that mess. 

Virgil narrowed his eyes with caution and slight anger. “You know I don’t believe in any of that Fairy-Tale balderdash.”

“Virgil, you are literally reading a storybook right now.”

“Just because I read it doesn’t mean I believe in it.”

Dolos felt themselves getting pulled right back into the circles that they’d treaded so many times before. Neither of them could ever win against the other, and so far they remained stuck at a stalemate. He decided to make an effort to pull themselves out before they fell any further. 

“So, I suppose you don’t want to take our walk, then?” Dolos sighed. “I was looking forward to it.”

Virgil’s head shot up. Dolos would bet that his visits were the only source of contact with anybody other than his mom that Virgil had, and he watched with amusement as Virgil struggled to find a way to agree without sounding too eager. Though, it wasn’t like the physical manifestation of anxiety was exactly good at hiding what he was feeling. Dolos could read him like a book.

Virgil settled with a small, jumpy shrug. “I mean--I’m not doing anything else today.” He glanced at the basket of food. “And--it is lunchtime.”

Dolos hid his triumphant smirk with a cheerful laugh. “That’s the spirit!” Azrael yowled as Dolos pulled Virgil up and he was dislodged from his spot on Virgil’s chest.   
“Come on! The pond is practically abandoned right now.”

Dolos could practically hear Virgil’s heart rate skyrocket at that. “It-it is?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Everybody else is busy trying to be in the happy medium when it comes to Good or Evil.”

Virgil looked away, sulking. “You think I’m going to end up in the School for Evil.”

Dolos peered at him curiously. He did, in fact, think that, but he wasn’t sure where Virgil had gotten the idea, or how he had leapt from “everybody is going nuts trying not to be kidnapped” to “everybody thinks I’m a cliched villain with bad hair.” He was pretty certain that he wasn’t being very obvious about it, but it was Virgil. The guy was observant about everything. “Of course not!”

“Yes, you do,” Virgil sighed. “You think I’m going to turn into a huge villain. Like everybody else in this stupid town.”

Dolos could see Radie in the distance and steered them away from her. Stalker. “Well, you do give off the impression of being sort of…”

“Creepy? Disgusting? Evil?”

“Dark.” Virgil looked down at his shoes, so Dolos just continued. “You do have to admit you have a kind of… spooky, shadow-y thing going on.”

Virgil muttered something he couldn’t quite pick up on. Dolos thought it was “No I don’t.”

“You wear all black,” he pointed out.

“So do you! Besides, I also wear purple.”

“I wear it elegantly and not always. My clothes always have gold stitching to them too! You always wear baggy clothes, and your shade of purple is too dark. It isn’t a royal princely purple. It’s an evil advisor purple.”

“Baggy clothes are comfortable, and not all advisors are evil. That’s stereotyping.”

“Your cat is evil, and you live in a graveyard.”

Virgil hunched into his cloak like a turtle retreating into his shell of purple and black patched wool. “It keeps away the hecklers.”

“Virgil, you’re spooky. You’re a spooky boy, and, I mean… that isn’t a bad thing!” It was a very bad thing. If he wasn’t going to be picked for the School for Evil, then he certainly wasn’t going to the School for Good. Besides, that was Dolos’ spot, and he planned to snatch it any way he could. “Plenty of heroes have darker aesthetics, they’re just a bit…”

“Morally gray. You think I’m going to turn out an angsty, dramatic, cloak-swishing anti-hero, is that it?” Virgil accused. They were nearing the pond, now, and Dolos was feeling sweaty in his well-kempt suit. He could see a trio of children feeding the ducks bread, the feeling of annoyance growing. Bread was bad for ducks. And those were the same three children he’d yelled at earlier in the week for doing the same thing. As the pair drew closer, the children caught sight of Virgil in the trees and ran off. Virgil scowled.

“No, that isn’t it. Virgil, listen. I know you better than that.” He turned around to look Virgil in the eyes, which was hard since the not-villain’s purple hair was falling over his face. Virgil looked away. “The other villagers don’t, so it’s rational that they’d… jump to some conclusions. And they have good reason to do so. At least I’m your friend, right?”

Virgil eventually gave in,“...fine.” But it was clear he wasn’t happy about it.

They found a spot underneath one of the towering trees. Dolos handed Virgil the basket, and Virgil gave it a wary look.

“Gluten-free, sugar-free, whole-wheat muffins,” he said, although he hadn’t even pulled back the cloth yet. “No thanks.”

“They’re healthy!” Dolos protested, and Virgil made that oddly adorable snuffling giggle of his. 

“They’re disgusting.”

“Not all healthy muffins are disgusting. That’s stereotyping.”

“Yours are.”

Dolos pushed him slightly, and Virgil pulled one of the muffins apart, tossing pieces of it into the water. Dolos shot him a betrayed glare. “Bread isn’t good for ducks.”

“These are for the fish.” A duck swam over and snapped up one of the pieces. Virgil shrugged. “Not my fault the ducks are eating it.”

“There aren’t any fish in this pond, Virgil.” 

Virgil ignored him, and Dolos leaned back. Life was good.


	2. Troubles Ahead

Virgil trudged back up the hill to his house, pulling his cloak tighter around him. Nighttime had fallen a while ago, and the cold really set in after dark. He should have left the pond as soon as Dolos had left, but he… hadn’t. The pond was a happy place for him. And he didn’t want to go home and face the thunder.

A breeze cut through him, and he wrapped his cloak even tighter, flipping up the hood and sticking his hands in the fleece-lined pockets. His fingers were chilled to the bone, but he didn’t mind it. 

Gavaldon was usually quiet at night, which was why Virgil liked it so much. He was more active in the evenings, going outside more when the sun had disappeared. Dolos had once joked he was nocturnal- and Virgil kind of had to agree. He liked it at this time, when everyone was asleep and the softer beams of the moon lightly illuminated what the sun had blazed. The darkness wrapped around him safely, hiding him from the judging gaze of society. It was like a soft, gentle cocoon that never left him and never would. He always felt safer at night than during the day.

This was the one night where he felt like even the shadows couldn’t protect him. The moon had hid, taking her reassuring light with her. He felt eyes on his back as he walked, but when he turned around, he couldn’t see anybody. A shade was following him, slipping through the cracks in the ground and lurking behind his back. Virgil shivered. 

The crashes and bangs that had stomped through the village in the morning had vanished, but their memory haunted the air. This night was not comforting; it was silently terrifying. Ominous. There was somebody else here. For once, he was eager to get back home.

His mom was already at it when he opened the door. Her voice had never been that great, but he always thought it got worse when she sang The Song. 

“Try to escape, you’ll always fail! The only way out is through a fairy--”

“--Mom?”

She whirled around, smiling. Virgil stared in disbelief. She never smiled. “Which one’s your favorite?” she asked, holding up three capes that all looked the same. They were new. Brand-new, by the looks of it. How had she afforded them? Had she spent the savings he’d earned rebinding storybooks already? How were they going to eat? Survive??

“Uh…” Virgil didn’t get a chance to voice his thoughts before she laughed and set them all gently on his bed. 

“Or maybe all three?” She stepped back and surveyed them, before nodding emphatically. “One for you, one for a friend, and one as a spare. Perfect!”

Virgil didn’t want to ask why he needed three capes. He knew why. It was for the School for Evil. He wanted to protest. To cry out that he didn’t want to be evil. He never wanted to be the cloak-swishing villain that cackled and boiled children in pots. On the contrary, he just wanted to make everyone happy. Keep them safe and unharmed and nicely within a small bubble of normal. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so, since his own mother thought he belonged in a storybook instead of the real world. “Come see what I have!” Adrestia grabbed Virgil’s hand and began eagerly sifting through a trunk she had situated at the foot of his bed. Virgil’s heart sank. All of this stuff looked relatively new, and he recognized Adrestia’s zig-zagged stitch on a few objects. His mother had bought brand-new things for him and hand-made the rest. What would she think when he wasn’t chosen? What would Dolos think when he wasn’t chosen? 

He turned away, not wanting to show his face. “That’s… great, Mom.”

She folded the capes into the trunk (that had his name embossed in metallic red--his favorite color was purple, didn’t she know that?) and tucked a letter on top along with a small bag filled with--something. She gave him a tired smile, not catching the desperation and resignation in his tone. “We should go to sleep. The School Master’s coming, and it’s better if you aren’t awake when he arrives.”

Virgil watched her roll into her own bed on the other side of the small room, and sighed. That hurt. Every conversation with her these days hurt, in a place he couldn’t locate and therefore bandage or soothe. If he looked in a mirror (which he tried not to do) he could see the resemblances between them. Heavily lidded eyes, brown hair that never behaved, thick necks, thin noses but big nostrils. It was subtler in him. Adrestia’s eyes were smaller, her teeth protruding like a horse’s, her nose oddly proportioned compared to the rest of her body, her hair was less on the fluffy side and more on the bushy one. He could see it every time he looked in a mirror. Dolos remarked on it all the time. But when he looked at her and compared them, he realized they were two very different people. Two very different people with two very different personalities and values and ideas about the world, and while he knew her as well as any son knew their mother, she had no idea who he was. And that hurt. 

It hurt so much.

He sat down on his bed heavily, hearing it squeak underneath him, and turned to look out the window.

He could already see the light from the circle of men surrounding Gavaldon, “protecting” the village as they did every four years. They probably wouldn’t do much. They hadn’t in the past, and they certainly wouldn’t succeed now. Sliding off his cloak and slipping into bed, he patiently waited until he heard his mother’s light breathing. Then he slid his shoes and cloak right back on and tramped outside, snatching the bag from on top of his trunk as he went. He couldn’t stay here. The presence watching him had left when he entered the house, but… he felt trapped. Confined. Imprisoned there. He had to get out. 

Dolos should still be awake by now. Dolos would listen to reason...right? He had to. Virgil had no other choice, not when his mother seemed to just as sure he would be taken, just like all the other villagers. Dolos was his only real friend. Dolos would hear him out, Dolos would tell him it was all okay, it was going to be fine. It just had to be.

The bag was filled to the brim with honey cakes, which he chewed on as he walked. It would be a shame to let them go to waste, especially since he didn’t get treats like this often. But they didn’t taste as good as they normally did, and Virgil slid the remaining ones into his pocket, stomping the crumbs into the ground. He rounded the corner to Dolos’ house. Dolos didn’t like it when he looked messy, something about keeping up appearances and not looking like a slob.

Now, in a town where two children are taken every four years, it’s logical to be awake late at night, worrying about being kidnapped. But when Virgil arrived at Dolos’ house, he realized that his friend was up worrying for exactly the wrong reasons.

And he was angry, because it made sense to him that Dolos would do this. 

“What in the world are you doing!” He hissed, gripping his satchel tighter. Was he stupid? 

Dolos glared at him from behind his window as he toiled away at the nail fastening the bars together with a shiny gold coin. “What I was meant to do,” he mouthed back. The nail fell out, and Dolos smiled triumphantly, carefully lowering the bar down in order to open said window. There were bars on the other side as well, and he began carefully unscrewing them.

“Look,” he began, before Virgil could even open his mouth, “I saw the School Master, and he’s coming for me, so I might as well go to him now and get it all over with. This is important to me. Don’t be so possessive.”

Virgil hesitated, hurt and worry swirling around in his thoughts. Was he being annoying? Stifling? Possessive? But-- no, no, he’d focus on that later. Right now, he needed to keep Dolos safe. “Just--how about we stay here for now, and if the School Master really wants you, he’ll come to you.”

Dolos looked taken aback, but he’d paused in his unscrewing. “Are you saying that he won’t choose me?”

“I--no! What? I didn’t say that!”

“You think I’m not a prince. You think I don’t belong in the School for Good. You don’t think I’m good enough.”

Virgil wanted to run away. Run far away from here, from his best friend, and hide in a hole until the moon came out from where she hid behind the clouds. But he had to protect the one friend he’d ever had, and if he was deemed selfish for it, he’d take that label and stick it on himself forever, but right here, right now, this was what he had to do. He tried to calm down to ease his nerves, taking a deep breath. “I think that it’s crazy to chase after a kidnapper, especially a powerful one. If he’s coming for you, he’ll come here.”

Dolos just went right back to unscrewing the bars. “Then I might as well make it as easy for him as possible.”

Virgil took what he could get. Some compromise was better than none. But as soon as Dolos removed the bars, he climbed through the window and plopped onto Dolos’ bed. He caught sight of his friend in the better light and blinked. “What are you wearing?”

Dolos had six suits, half of which Virgil'd completely sewn on his own as gifts, and the other half that Dolos’d bought, then had Virgil alter. And Virgil knew this one intimately.

Black, with long coattails that trailed embroidered lions on the hem in gold. Golden gloves and cufflinks glinted in the moonlight, the polished boots completing the outfit. Virgil had made it himself, fitting the shoulders and slimming everything down to make it more complementary to Dolos’ figure, as a Yuletide gift. It hadn’t come with the coattails, though. Virgil had bought the fabric with the lions already stitched and attached them to the jacket. He had spent hours tailoring it, stitching it together, and Dolos had been so happy. He’d worn it every day for a week afterwards, and then saved it in his closet for special occasions.

“It’s the fanciest thing I own,” Dolos sniffed. “I want to make a good impression.” 

Virgil turned away. Oh, he’d make an impression, alright. He looked like he was going to a high-end funeral instead of a magic school. “Let’s just sit here and wait for the School Master, all right?”

Dolos crossed his arms and sat primly on one of the many trunks scattered throughout the room. “I’ve already agreed, Virgil.” 

He felt like he was in the room with a vexed lion instead of his friend. He was tensed up, waiting for the lion to pounce. It wouldn’t happen. Dolos was nice, and no matter how anxious he got about the School Master, he wouldn’t take it out on Virgil. And if he did, well, Virgil understood. It was fine.

The moon still hadn’t reappeared.

Dolos became antsy as time passed. He started talking about clothes, and, by that, he began insulting Virgil’s. He always did that when he was nervous, and while Virgil tried to remember that and not take it personally, it still hurt to hear that. “You’ve had that cloak for over two years, it’s high time for something new! What will the School Master think if he sees you with your dirty rags?” Dolos gasped. “What will the School Master say when he comes to get me? ‘Oh, hello there Dolos, who’s your unfashionable friend? Did he crawl out of a sewing school’s reject pile?’”

Virgil shrunk in on himself and stared at his shoes, busying himself with taking the honey cakes out of his pocket and arranging them on the windowsill. He tried to ignore what Dolos was saying, he really did, but… he still found himself thinking about it. He liked his cloak. It was warm, it fit him really well, and he liked the way he’d fixed the numerous holes it’d acquired. He liked the bright purple patches and the huge, noticeable stitches and the hood that went way over his face but left him able to see. But he also valued Dolos’ opinion.

“You look like a witch, Virgil,” Dolos continued. He untied the strings and whisked it off Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil’s hands immediately flew to his arms, and he felt--vulnerable. He wanted to snatch it out of Dolos’ hands. But he didn’t. “Maybe the School Master will take you too just because of your clothes. ‘Oh, here’s Dolos and--what’s this! A demon child born of his mother’s cauldron and dead toads? I guess I can kill two birds with one stone, then!’”

The candle on Dolos’ nightstand suddenly flickered and died. He didn’t notice. Virgil did. 

“Maybe he might not even notice you with this gigantic hood?” Dolos continued. A small gust of wind crashed through the window and gently ruffled the blankets of the bed Virgil was sitting on. Again, Dolos didn’t notice. Virgil did. He pulled his knees up to his chest and set his chin on them. The honey cakes had disappeared.

“At least it covers up that monstrosity of a dye job you like to call your hair,” Dolos said. He tossed the cloak back to Virgil and began pacing. “You know, he’ll probably just ignore you entirely. Just completely forget about you. What’s so special about you, anyway? There are probably tons of kids around here who actually do evil things instead of just living in a graveyard and being generally creepy. You just have a weird name. What’s up with your name, anyway? Verrr-juhl. Virgil. Sounds stupid.”

The temperature dropped again, like a shadow had crept into the room and was looming over them, dousing any drop of warmth that might have slipped through. Dolos didn’t notice. He’d started to pace. Virgil did, and he tied his cloak around his shoulders again and stuffed his hands into the pockets. The air seemed to grow colder the longer Dolos continued to berate him.

Virgil blinked, then blinked once more, harder, before rubbing his eyes. The shadow loomed over Dolos, observing them, and it seemed to take the form of a giant monster with clawed hands and glowing eyes. “D-Dolos…?”

“What, Virgil?” Dolos snapped. The shadow grew darker, and Virgil stared up at it in fear. Dolos finally turned around and yelped. 

The shadow lunged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has been written for a while now, but due to some complications (all the complications were on my (Caellie's) side because I had midterms and am currently dealing with school-related issues so), the posting was delayed >< Sorry about that!
> 
> We changed the Virgil's mom's name to Adrestia because that was the name of the Greek goddess of revolt and revenge (along with some other meanings), which we thought was very fitting. Our boys are gonna get snatched to the magic schools now! Just how will they fare? We'll just have to see.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! We're always open to feedback and constructive criticism!


	3. Hopscotched by a Plant

Dolos was roughly whisked out of his room, ensnared in the shadow’s grasp. His breath rushed out of his mouth and he struggled to regain it as the shadowy figure pulled him out of the house. He hoped that his suit wouldn’t rip, but figured that the stitches would hold. If they didn’t, well. The school was bound to have an extra sewing kit or two.

The shadow’s hands were cold and dug into Dolos’ skin. He’d probably have bruises after this. 

“Dolos!” Virgil cried. 

Of course Virgil wouldn’t have been taken, Dolos thought disappointedly. While Virgil did have a certain aura about him, he wouldn’t have the capacity to be cruel. He was just… a bit crude. And rude. And horrifically blunt at times. But there were probably people much worse than him in Gavaldon. 

Which was why it was surprising when the shadow avoided any of the other houses and instead went barrelling straight towards the line of trees with no hesitation whatsoever. The men shrieked and waved their torches, the flames of which bent away from them as the shadow barreled through. The men scattered like ants, unwilling to actually do anything to protect him, waving their torches, and Dolos was pulled into the Woods. He could hear his father call after him. 

He didn’t call back.

“You know, I honestly thought this would be fancier,” Dolos commented unconcernedly. “Maybe a line of footmen, or a carriage. Or a dragon, perhaps. That would be interesting. Can you tame dragons?” 

The leaves began to close behind them, and Dolos considered calling a farewell to his old life. He opened his mouth to begin--and abruptly had the air knocked out of him. 

Virgil had flung himself on top of him, seizing Dolos’ shoulders and attempting to pull himself up. The shadow didn’t notice.

“Virgil!” Dolos flipped over so that Virgil was dragged on the ground. “Go away! I’m finally getting what I deserve!”

“I’m coming too!” Virgil clambered underneath him to cling onto the shadow’s back. When had he gotten so versatile? “I’m not letting you go alone!”

“I don’t need you, Virgil! And I certainly don’t want you here! You’re ruining this for me!” If the shadow, who had to be the School Master or one of his underlings, hadn’t gotten Virgil when he was right there, then he obviously hadn’t been chosen. What if Dolos got in trouble for this? This could affect his chances to be in the School for Good! The thought seized him like the shadow had, causing him to climb up beside Virgil and start to tug at his hands. 

“You’re going to knock me off!” Virgil protested, and hopped around to wrap his arms around the shadow’s neck. His hands were cold as Dolos pried at his fingers. He had painted his nails black, but the paint was mostly chipped off, Dolos noted. 

“So?”

“Quit it! We’re in the Woods! I could die!”

“So?!”

Virgil stared at him in disbelief, and Dolos felt something akin to shame. He was about to apologize, but in the very next moment the shadow vanished and they were sent tumbling to the ground.

“Good to know that’s all I am to you,” Virgil hissed. Somehow, even with the shadow gone, it had gotten darker. The moonlight that had allowed them to see had vanished, and they were stranded in complete darkness, save for a couple of winking stars above them that did little to stave off the night. “Have I just been another good deed this entire time?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dolos said hurriedly. He looked around. The blackness crawled all over his face and sank into his eyelids. “I was nervous and scared and I snapped at you. I didn’t mean it. If you died I would be devastated, and it was cruel of me to imply that I wouldn’t be, because it wasn’t true. Don’t take it personally.”

A light burst in the middle of the room, and Dolos shut his eyes tight from the sudden brightness. He looked away from it to let his eyes adjust, and when he looked back, he saw Virgil smiling crookedly at him. He had lit a match. Virgil kept matches on him? Since when-?

“It’s okay,” he replied. “All fine. I know you didn’t mean to--it’s fine. I overreacted. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Dolos said gratefully, and his icky feeling eased. He glanced about them and edged closer. “Where are we?” The walls seemed to be green. He poked one of them, and it felt like--

“Some sort of plant,” Virgil said wonderingly. He bounced slightly on the green floor, which jiggled underneath him, dislodging Dolos, who shifted to stay upright.

“We’re on a leaf. A really…” Dolos hesitated. “Big leaf.” He gasped as a thought too horrible to ponder on occurred, and he began searching his outfit for broken stitches. He found one.

“Oh, no…” Virgil said sadly, his face crumpled. Dolos’ coattails had been ripped, and they were hanging off the jacket by only a few stitches. Any more and they would have fallen off completely Dolos tugged them off, and Virgil gently lifted them out of his hands, folding them inside his cloak. “I’ll fix them later.”

“I might have a better chance,” Dolos said, not wanting Virgil to be taking his coattails into the School for Evil. “There’s bound to be a fair maiden with a sewing kit at the School for Good.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Virgil started to reach into his cloak to hand them back, but then his arm stilled, and his figure stiffened. “Wait. Oh no. I’m gonna have to fight you. Shit.” He reached up to grab his hair and Dolos snatched his arms away before it could happen. If Virgil ripped all of his hair out, he’d look more like a mess than he already did. He was already swearing like--some--peasant. Any more and he’d be the cloak-swishing villain he’d never wanted to be. Although--he was going to the School for Evil--And… Virgil was talking again.

“Are they going to make me fight you? What if they do? I can’t fight you!” His arms twitched underneath Dolos’ hands, but Dolos wasn’t paying attention anymore.

“Virgil? I think we’re sliding.”

Before Virgil could respond, Dolos went rolling down the edge as it bent under their weight. His hands scrabbled for a hold, managing to rip a hole through the leaf but still sliding until he reached a vein, which trembled under his weight but stayed steady. He hung onto that, and Virgil managed to cling to him like some sort of cat. They stayed that way, panting, the vein almost ripping but not quite. Well, Dolos thought, it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

The leaf flung them upwards, and Dolos just had time to feel annoyed at the leaf for daring to contradict him when his heart hopped up to hide in his throat and he wanted to scream. They bounced onto a second one, which sunk again, before tossing them up. The wind caused Virgil’s match to go out, and Dolos didn’t know which way was up until they landed once more. He just had time to orient himself before they were off again, his vision spinning.

“This is crazy!” Virgil managed to shriek. Dolos just hoped his outfit hadn’t lost any other pieces. He was almost glad he’d been unable to find the perfect hat. It would have long since fallen off. 

They hit another leaf and this time Virgil went spinning off into the abyss. The scream (“Virgil!”) tore itself out of Dolos’ throat, but then Virgil had been thrown back up again by some other leaf and Dolos was flying too, and then they were landing, and now they were flying, and up was down and left was right and Dolos couldn’t tell if they were rising or falling or if they’d stopped moving entirely. 

They flew into the air once more, and never fell back down--Dolos felt himself halt suddenly, his coat bunching up around his ears to pinch at his armpits, something grabbing onto the back of his coat. He hoped it hadn’t ripped. What had grabbed him? He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. 

“Dolos,” Virgil whispered, and Dolos prepared to be eaten. But he didn’t sound scared. He sounded… in awe. Which was odd for his always-anxious friend, so Dolos cracked his eyes open and gasped.

He was suspended in midair, supported by some flapping bony thing that had grasped him in one claw and Virgil in the other. Spread out below them were the Woods, looking much less dark and dreary from above. He looked up and gasped again, his eyes wide open now. He wasn’t dreaming. Even his dreams weren’t as gorgeous as this.

Before them were two castles, both shooting glistening towers spiraling up towards the sun. One was composed entirely of pink and blue glass, glimmering in the morning light. Fluffy pink clouds drifted about the graceful tips of the towers, paired with beautiful green lawns that stretched out around them, a sparkling moat circling the base. The luscious green woods abruptly turned a gorgeous blue underneath them. It was perfect and beautiful and everything Dolos had ever dreamed of. 

The other was a jagged black nightmare that looked like someone had cut pieces of obsidian and black stones apart and glued them together into a grim-looking triangle. A churning river of blackish paste roiled around, clashing with the clear waters of the other moat. Lighting seemed to clash around it, and he recoiled in disgust, glancing sympathetically to Virgil. That would be his home, although it seemed to suit his personality.

“Two towers, like twin heads…” Virgil whispered. One for the pure, one for the wicked, Dolos finished in his head.

“It’s beautiful,” Virgil muttered. Dolos had to agree, even with the creepy looking castle beside it.

The skeleton bird swooped over the School for Evil, and Dolos began looking for where they would land so Virgil could get off. They’d say their goodbyes, bemoan the fact they’d be enemies, and Dolos would soar off to fulfill his destiny.

He was still thinking, dreaming, when he felt the wind rush past his face, hearing Virgil shout his name. He blinked once, twice, uncertain what was happening (what was happening? What was happening?) and before he knew it, he was submerged in sticky, black muck. It stuck to his face and nudged its way into his mouth and crept underneath his eyelids and wrapped itself around his retinas and--ew. He swam to the surface and tried to spit the stuff out from the roof of his mouth. Where was he? How did he—where was he? He looked around. He could see the bird carrying Virgil to the School for Good, hearing Virgil’s protests all the while. Another one of the horrid birds flew overhead and dropped something near his face. He scrambled away, his foot touching something that moved once he made contact. The girl--and it was a girl, with a scrawny face and watery eyes and stringy hair--caught sight of him and swam over. “Hi!” She chirped, and bobbed in the water, and either she was wearing a strapless top or nothing at all, which she clarified in the next statement. “The stymph stole my clothes--Wo-ooh you’re pretty. Can I touch your hair?” She paddled forward, her hand reached out, and he batted it away, escaping to the nearest shoreline. No.

Another boy was crawling out of the muck beside him, with spots of black and orange hair and stubble already patching his cheeks. He gave Dolos an appraising look and sneered. Beside him a girl with a rats nest of hair and buck teeth had begun the trudge to the School for Evil, her eyes a malignant red. No no no no no no—

There had to have been some mistake.

He didn’t belong here.

He wasn’t Evil.

He couldn’t be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if you've noticed, but Dolos isn't exactly nice. Don't worry, tho! Character arcs exist for a reason! Not much happens in this chapter, but next time we can see Virgil in the School for Good! And we'll meet Patton! And Roman! And others!   
> I hope you enjoyed! Constructive criticism is always welcome <3  
> ~~~Caellie E


	4. Virgil Has No Clue What He's Supposed to Do, but He's Managing, and We're Proud of Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! A couple of name changes, yay. I’ll go ahead and explain them. Rumi Espada, the swordplay teacher, is now Samir Luphel--who will play a much more mentor-y role and therefore is named “friend who talks in the evenings” and “Helpful” but rearranged and with no f. Ethann Niel (Aleksander Lucas) chivalry & grooming, was named that way because of Ethos and also Daniel but without the “Da.” Nameberry is a lifesaver (and Ethos will become clear later). Chir the Centaur (Yuba the Gnome)--Chiron without the “on.” Lycastus and Parrhaius (Castor and Pollux). Two more greek twins (I was originally going to name them “Gem” and “Ini” as in Gemini, but that… stupid). Chordata is Albermarle but a Turtle and Chordata is either a part of a turtle or type of one. September Aldin--Augustus Sader, Aldin because it means “wise” and September because August. I hope that clears some things up for you, in advance. Enjoy! --Vaye

Virgil landed in a field. Hard. He sprung up immediately (everything hurt but he didn’t care) before frantically searching the clear, bright blue skies for the thing that had brought him. “Wait!” He called. “Come back! I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Well,  _ that’s _ obvious.”

Virgil turned around. A gaggle of boys, all the prettiest, strongest boys that had ever lived in the past, present, and probably future, were clustered in the middle of the field,  _ looking at him why were they looking at him what did they mean what should he do _ , and, as he watched, another one blossomed out of the ground (yes, blossomed, as in grew out of a flower and drifted gently down) and was quickly filled in by the others. (What. Why- how even- was that possible? He’d ponder more on that later.) The one who seemed to be the leader of the group, a handsome, princely-looking one dressed in red, had been the one who had spoken. Virgil felt like he was standing next to Dolos again, all less-than and a foil to their greatness, causing him to shrink back under their inquisitive— _ judgmental _ —stares.

“How on earth did  _ you _ get here?” A second one inquired, and- wow was he tall. But still strikingly handsome, with hair cropped close to his head and dark skin rippling over muscles.

“A plant catapulted me into the sky and then a black skeleton bird kidnapped me,” Virgil deadpanned. Humor. Sarcasm. He could do that. That was his  _ specialty. _

The first one paused, looking unsure of whether or not that had been a joke. It had been. Sort of. “So you  _ don’t _ have a Flowerground pass.”

“I don’t even know what that  _ means _ .”

“Oh, he’s a Reader,” a voice interjected from the midst of the group. The person pushed their way forward to reveal a much younger-looking boy with ruffled brown hair wearing glasses, a blue shirt and a gray cape,  _ bouncing _ . Who had that much energy this early in the morning? Virgil hadn’t even had his coffee yet-- he probably never will now, but his point still stands-- and this kid was just jumping up and down as if he was on a sugar hype. “He’s definitely a Reader.”

The rest of them nodded like this made perfect sense, but Virgil was completely lost. “I’m a what?”

“A Reader,” the tall one said patiently. “From Beyond the Woods. The Woods Beyond. You know. The one that the School Master chooses. I’m Leo of Nottingham.” Nottingham? Like— _ Sherwood  _ Nottingham? 

“You’re a giant,” Virgil corrected, and more people were popping up out of the ground and  _ too many eyes, too many gazes, they were all looking at him and he didn’t know what to do _ and someone was speaking to him. “What was that?”

“I’m Prince Roman of Camelot,” the princely one said snootily. “Although I suppose if you’re too  _ busy _ to  _ listen _ to me you might as well  _ leave _ .” 

_ Camelot.  _ These people—they were—and Virgil suddenly, like someone punching him in the eye, realized that he really was a peasant standing in a field of princes, and he had never been so out of place.

“I’m Virgil of… Gavaldon?” Virgil screwed up his face (Virgil—such a horrible name, sounding even eviler surrounded by such dashing people), but Roman seemed to accept that answer.

“Just say ‘Woods Beyond!’” The glasses-d one advised. “It’ll clear up a lot of trouble. I’m Patton! Of Raaaainbow Gale!” He spun around as he sang it, and Virgil stepped back. Too much energy. Wayyyyy too much energy. Was there any way for him to get coffee while he was stuck here? He dragged a hand down his face and tried not to look as though he desperately needed sleep, even though that was the truth.

“Hey, get your sword ready,” somebody admonished him. Virgil looked around to find that everyone had some sort of weapon strapped to them. Roman in particular had a sleek katana slung around his waist. One kid had nunchucks. “We enter soon”

The group started moving and Virgil found himself being tugged along by Patton. A sword? He didn’t have a--

“Don’t worry!” Patton exclaimed. Like he knew what Virgil had been thinking. “I brought an extra!” He handed Virgil a shortsword and sword belt, which Virgil awkwardly wrapped around himself underneath his cloak. His scabbard clattered into his knees as he walked. He hoped he didn’t have to use it - he couldn’t use it even if he wanted to. And he didn’t need to advertise his out-of-place-ness. “That’s a really cool cloak you have there! But you’re going to have to take it off--there’s a uniform!”

A uniform? Virgil looked around at the outfits the princes were wearing--linen shirts, velvet coats, and sashes in an array of colors. Breeches in shades of cold cream and fluffy clouds and wheat just barely blooming. High boots that ranged from comfortable walking shoes to shined black confections with just a bit of a heel. Patton wore a light blue tunic and dark brown loose pants that tucked into scuffed boots under his gray cloak. Dolos would have called that peasant wear, and it seemed to be much more casual than what the others were wearing. Roman was on the other end of the spectrum, with a loose silk shirt the color of snow underneath a stiff gold coat. A red strip of cloth ran from his shoulder to his waist. 

He was supposed to wear  _ that _ ? Stuff like _that_? Yeah, no. No thanks.

Virgil flipped up his hood and stuck his hands into his pockets, scowling. 

“Yeah,” Patton agreed. “It is a  _ really _ cool cloak. I love the patches! And how  _ big _ it is!” Virgil regarded him curiously (that’s not what Dolos said) but didn’t have time to think over the praise because now they were marching--not walking,  _ marching _ \--to a grassy tunnel underneath the glass school. Virgil could see a cluster of fairies above them gently carrying some large figures to a higher level of the school. He heard someone ask, “where are all the girls?”  _ Who cares? _ Virgil thought.  _ The less people here, the better. _

The walk stretched longer than what Virgil would have liked. Roman kept throwing him weird looks, but he was kept occupied by Leo, and Virgil was distracted by Patton’s barrage of questions. A bad feeling was growing in his stomach, reaching up to wrap around his heart in order to tug it down towards his feet. He’d read the storybooks. He knew who these people were--who they were the children of. And he knew what their parents had done. He glanced over at the School for Evil, before quickly averting his gaze almost fearfully. What kind of people were over  _ there _ ? What kind of trouble was Dolos in? What was going to happen to them?

They entered a long hall, a little sparser than what Virgil would have expected from a fairy tale school, made of polished wood and leaves poking through the ceiling. Patton nudged him giddily and pointed up, and, when Virgil listened attentively, he could hear the clatter of high heels paired with soft giggles and chatter. One of the girls began to yell something, but was cut off. Roman glanced up curiously and muttered something to Leo, who peered up as well. They both looked back at Virgil, which he thought was odd and more than a little anxiety-provoking, before quickly turning away.

The boys began lining up, Virgil somehow managing to stumble to the front. A tall, willowy nymph thrust a basket towards him and a pile of clothes along with it, before the next boy shoved him out of the way and into a flow of students all clambering towards two spiraling staircases. Virgil staggered, slipping his arm through the basket handle to stop it from sliding out of his hands and scrabbling the pile of clothes into his arms and somebody bumped into him and--Patton took his arm and pulled him out of the stream of people. “What do you have?” He wondered, and pulled back the cloth on top of his own basket. Virgil copied him, his heart rate hovering somewhere in between butterfly and hummingbird mode.

The first thing on top of the pile was a schedule. He was assigned to Honor, room 13. Wasn’t that fitting? The unlucky number.

“Oh!” Patton exclaimed. “We’re roommates!”

“Great,” Virgil said, and was surprised to find he meant it. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He skimmed down the rest of the schedule. 

**Swordplay and Weapons Training** **Prof. Samir Luphel**

**Chivalry and Grooming** **Prof. Ethann Niel**

**Physical Education** **Chordata the Turtle**

**Lunch**

**History of Heroes** **Prof. September Aldin**

**Good Deeds** **Dean Emile Picani**

**Surviving Fairy Tales** **Chir the Centaur, Group 4**

He grimaced at the ridiculous amount of exercise they’d have to do. What about smarts? And brains? Brain over brawn, right? But _no_. He’d have to _exercise_. _Twice. A Day._ Why? What was the point? Patton grabbed his hand again, and Virgil suddenly realized--this was a _school_. And, yeah, he’d known that before, but he was just now remembering that a fun fact about schools was that they had _classes_. Where you sat in a room and learned stuff. Surrounded by people. And somebody whose literal job was to judge you. Virgil felt like a stone had dropped in his stomach, and he wanted to stumble back, but Patton was holding onto his hand. Virgil had never sat in a classroom before, having been homeschooled his entire life, and--his education was probably horrible compared to these princes. He’d self-taught himself everything, from math to reading to-to-to _everything_. He’d fail. He’d be thrown out and leave Dolos all alone in that big scary castle called the School for Evil. He’d be delivered back to Gavaldon with a tattoo on his forehead that said **F A I L U R E** and be followed by an entourage of laughing students, and at the front would be Roman and he’d have a derisive judgmental look on his face and tell everyone how gross Virgil had been and Patton would bemoan why he ever decided to be nice to such a socially-unacceptable idiot and everything would be horrible.

Virgil struggled to keep his breath steady. The chatter of the students became too loud,too much, everything was happening all at once, and he wasn’t noticing any of it. The staircases were made of blue glass, one with H-O-N-O-R carved on the banister and the other with V-A-L-O-R, both with dashing knights fighting dragons. Patton was pulling him up Honor, down a hallway, into a huge room with three four-poster beds and murals stretching up the walls and onto the ceiling. There was somebody else there with them, a boy who introduced himself as Terrence.

Virgil took the opportunity to change in the bathroom. He excused it as feeling uncomfortable with people looking at him. But when he managed to tug open the bathroom door, he just sank to the floor and tried to breathe. Breathe in for 4 seconds, hold for 7, and exhale for 8. Slowly. Steadily. Until the pounding in his ears went away but his stomach was still holding onto his heart. He could deal with that, though, tugging on the clothes in his pile and--groaned. 

At least they fit him. That was the only thing nice about them.

The coat sparkled a light blue. Dolos would’ve called it “cornflower,” but Virgil only knew it as blue. Very blue. Very light blue. It was embroidered with gold at the shoulders and wrists, trailing down the front and arms as well. The coat hung off of his thin frame and made him look stick-like, but at least it seemed tailored well. Underneath the coat there was a vest (waistcoat?), a lighter shade but still that blue color that seemed to bring out the shadows under his eyes, making him look slightly sick. And underneath  _ that _ was a shirt and tie that Virgil had fumbled around into knotting. The breeches were stiff and a bit loose, if he had to say so himself, the shoes clacked on the floor and the belt had a scabbard attached to it that he slid the sword Patton had given him into. On the bright side, his knees weren’t being hit anymore, and at least the shirt was soft (silk, he thought) while the coat and vest-thing covered him completely. He shrugged his shoulders and waved his arms around in it, deciding to treat this thing like his cloak even though it wasn’t nearly as good. Protection. It was protection. 

He peeked out of the bathroom. Patton and Terrence were chatting, distracted, so he slipped out into the room he’d now occupy, taking the time to look around. Three four-poster beds arrayed in small nooks on each wall other than the door. A large space in the middle taken up by three desks, and three wardrobes sitting in the corners. Terrence seemed to have claimed one of the beds, the one by a huge window, so Virgil took the one closest to the door and by no windows, dumping his stuff nearby and wondering what they were supposed to do now.

A bell chimed, causing Patton to look up from his conversation. “Welcoming time!” He chirped, looking over at Virgil expectantly. Terrence spared him a glance as well.

“Come on!” Terrence said, and, if Virgil wasn’t imagining it, with a bit of impatience and suspicion. He went along with them anyway, tromping down the long hallway in shoes that just met his knees and felt unsteady underneath him. Was this what girls felt like wearing heels? No, he’d worn heels (his mother’s) before, and they’d been more wobbly---before he’d gotten used to it, of course. This was just--weird.

They stopped at a large door and paused, Terrence and Patton still talking. Virgil could see Roman in the back, talking to Leo and two other boys. He smiled charmingly at them, and he looked away.

Why were they waiting?

He was handed a rose by a teacher who smiled at him and moved on. His coat felt hot. What was happening? Virgil turned to his left, where Patton had been, and found himself face-to-face with Roman. How had he--? Patton had hopped over to another boy with Terrence and left him alone. Oh no. This would not turn out well, he noted observantly.

“What,” Roman said flatly.

“I just--” Virgil wanted his cloak. That cloak was much better to hide in than these scraps of linen and velvet and--and--he didn’t know fabrics but he didn’t feel comfortable in them. He shrunk down into his collar instead. Protection. Good enough (not good enough!) “I don’t know--what’s going--happening--what am I supposed--”

“We’re going to walk in,” Roman said semi-patiently. “And hand out roses to the girl we like the most. And possibly fight each other. It depends.”

_ That  _ didn’t calm Virgil’s nerves at all. 

The doors opened and they began to step out. Virgil noticed that Roman lagged behind--why? What was he planning? They were in front of the entire school. Virgil caught sight of Dolos looking miserable in a black sack-like uniform next to a few other students. One of them, wearing a blue scarf that looked out of place amongst the mass of black uniforms, was watching him closely, sharp brown eyes following him across the stage. Dolos wasn’t looking. Dolos was sulking. That made him feel a bit better. Only a bit though.

The other boys began tossing their flowers into the crowd of girls, seemingly at random with the intention for the girls to catch them, although a few handed theirs off to specific people. One of the girls got a particularly large amount. The girl next to her had none and looked just as miserable as he did. Patton passed his off to a rather plump girl who also had none, exchanging a few words.

Virgil handed his to the annoyed-looking one, unsure what else to do. She glared at him. She was kind of small. “I don’t want your pity rose.”

“P-pity rose? No--I just thought you looked as miserable as I am so--sorry--should I take it back?”

“No!” She clutched it closer. “Thanks. I’m Talyn of Foxwood.” Her bright blue hair appeared darker at the roots, shifting colors in a nice ombre effect. It was cut short at the sides and fell over her forehead--was she the only girl with short hair here? Her eyebrows were blue too. It was an impressive dye job. He might ask her for tips later. Her face sported eyeshadow that switched colors in the middle, paired with pink lipstick, and her shoulders were pressed back but her head was down. An odd mix of confidence and nervousness. At least she was as stressed as he was. He wasn’t alone in his fear.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“Virgil of--Woods Beyond.” 

They shook hands, and Talyn hesitated, like she was about to add something, but the girl next to her interrupted.

“She’s an idiot, you know. She wants to be addressed as ‘they,’” she said snobbishly. “That’s not even grammatically correct. Don’t waste your time on her. She’s obviously stupid and confused. I’m Delilah, by the way.” She pronounced it “Dee-lee-lah.” Her long blonde hair smoothed back in an intricate braid dotted with flowers, a few thick, wavy strands left hanging artfully around her face. Her lips were full and glistened with glittery lip gloss. Her eyes sparkled a bright blue, the color of the sky in the evening. She wore the pink, almost astonishingly short uniform of the Evergirls like a ballgown, although it somehow appeared even shorter on her and she had undone an extra button. She looked confident and poised and--princess-like. 

Virgil preferred Talyn’s look.

Talyn reared up like an enraged dragon, but Virgil didn’t even notice. “I think they’re great. I want to know how they got their hair to look like that. It looks cool.”

“She’s not meant to look cool, she’s meant to look pretty and demure! More feminine!” Delilah protested. Talyn looked away, their face red.

Virgil bit his lip and turned back, resolving to just ignore her. There was a loud commotion behind him and he looked up to see — the other Everboys fighting Roman. When did that happen? He was defeating them almost effortlessly, making the other girls swoon. Talyn didn’t; he knew he’d liked them for a reason. Virgil shrank back.

“Well?”

Virgil blinked. “Well, what?”

Roman blew some of his hair out of his face. “Giving up before you’ve even started? Not very chivalrous of you.”

Some of the girls scowled at him, and Virgil shied away. Most of the boys, too. Patton, on the other hand, shot him a thumbs-up. He wasn’t sure he knew what was going on. 

“Well--no--” He stuttered. 

“Well then, no use in dragging it out.” Roman sank into a battle stance and waggled his katana around tauntingly. 

Virgil fumbled his own sword out (it felt heavy in his hands) and unsteadily crouched lower. Roman attacked--and Virgil promptly ran. He dodged, ducked under Roman’s blade, continued running. He quickly zagged away from Roman’s sword again before scrambling up a pillar, his arms wrapping around it like it was one of the trees he had climbed back in his graveyard, but with fewer hand-holds. His heart was beating in his chest. His feet hurt. His sword was clutched in his hands and he’d hit himself over the knuckles with it at some point, his hand aching as a result.

“Seriously?” Roman asked, his sword dangling limply from his fingers as he waved it around. “Are you just--this isn’t a great fight. I mean, come  _ on _ Charlie Frown, are you really just going to stay up there the whole time?”

“I didn’t want to fight you in the first place,” Virgil muttered, and he thought he was quiet enough that nobody would be able to hear him, but Roman gasped and placed his hand against his heart like Virgil had cussed like a sailor and insulted his mother.

“It’s tradition!” Roman protested, and Virgil began to slide. He grabbed the top of the pillar and braced his legs against a decorative ledge, planting his foot directly into the face of a carved prince and pretending it was Roman. 

“It’s peer pressure from dead people, Prince Underarm Stink,” Virgil retorted. He was being rude, and he knew it, and while he wanted to crawl into a hole until the sun went away, he was here now, and panic panic  _ panic panic _ and “look, fine, just--this is stupid, and so here you go.” He tossed his sword down and slipped down the pillar. “I don’t care.”

“Yay, Virgil!” Patton cheered. The other boys had long since sat down (with a disproportionate number near Delilah), so Virgil slid into a seat next to Talyn and Patton, who gave him a “cool” and an enthusiastic high-five respectively. He looked over at Dolos and saw him frowning. He disapproved. Virgil knew he would, and he shrank down in his seat. He hadn’t meant to make him mad- he just hadn’t wanted to fight Roman. Virgil already regretted his decision.   


The doors opened again, and the  _ weirdest _ thing Virgil had ever seen tottled out, snapping. 

“You’re taking up too much space!”

“ _ You _ ’re taking up too much space!”

“I barely have any!”

“Augh, you stink! Turn your head the  _ other way _ , filthy mutt!”

“ _ I _ ’m the filthy mutt?! I’d tell you to look in the mirror but you already do that too much anyway!”

“Mirror mirror on the wall, if Lycastus doesn’t shut up I’ll make him  _ fall! _ ”

The head on the right shoved the entire dog body over, tipping them in a way that the head on the left was smushed against the ground. The right-hand head looked very pleased with… itself and craned around so that it could still look at the students upright. “Hello!” it exclaimed cheerily, but was cut off by Lycastus’s growl.

“GET OFF OF ME,” Lycastus demanded, the body wriggling itself upright again. Parrhasius huffed.

“You’re setting a bad example for the children.”

“ _ You _ ’re setting a bad example for the children! I’m setting an EVIL EXAMPLE BECAUSE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO BE EVIL.” Lycastus shot a pointed look at the gaggle of Nevers, and Virgil could see Dolos sink down in his seat. The boy next to Dolos, wearing glasses and a dark blue scarf, looked at him curiously, then looked at Virgil (they locked eyes; Virgil looked away), then looked back at Dolos.

An Everboy coughed, and Parrhasius startled, forcing Lycastus to jump as well. “Oh! Right--I am Parrhasius, Welcoming Leader and teacher of etiquette at the School for Good, and this is--”

“Lycastus, WELCOMING LEADER ASSISTANT AND PUNISHER OF ANYBODY WHO ACTS LIKE A DONKEY AND-OR BREAKS THE RULES.”

Parrhasius sniffed in annoyance. He reminded Virgil of Dolos...in a doggy kind of way. “...yes. We have a couple of opening lines for you--”

“IF YOU BREAK THESE RULES, I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. OR OUT OF SLEEP. WHEN YOU’RE AWAKE. EITHER ONE.”

“They aren’t  _ rules _ ,” Parrhasius said peevishly. “They’re polite suggestions that are regularly enforced through punishment. Now,” he continued, straightening importantly. “Students must remain in their assigned schools at all times.”

“OR THEY WILL DIE.”

Virgil cast another look at the Evil side of the room. That was a rule he would probably have to break. The thought of getting in trouble made his stomach turn- but Dolos was more important. And Virgil didn’t intend to stick around anyway. 

“Students will not kill their fellow students,” Parrhasius continued. Virgil would have thought that was a given. The fact that it wasn’t made him nervous. Then again, he was always nervous. This didn’t help. “And no going into the Endless Woods after dark either.  _ Stay in the Blue Woods _ . Students, as well as the teachers and  _ deans _ \--” and was that said with a meaningful glance at the corner of the room or was Virgil imagining it? “Are forbidden from interfering with the Storian.”

“UNLESS YOU WANT TO PERISH HORRIBLY, IN WHICH CASE FEEL FREE.”

_ The Storian _ ? Virgil mouthed the words, but he didn’t recognize them. Talyn gave him a look. They’d explain later, he hoped. He hoped they’d explain a lot. He would very much like some explanation.

“Do not disturb the gargoyles.” Parrhasius was droning on at this point, with a monotonous voice that put some of the Nevers to sleep. One of them toppled over. 

Talyn looked disgusted. “I have  _ Etiquette _ with this guy,” they muttered.

“Students should not attempt to conceal or remove the swan on their uniforms.”

Virgil looked down at his blue coat. There was, indeed, a white swan on it, glittering right above his heart. He covered it up with his hand, and it just reappeared on his skin, sparkling almost smugly. Patton was doing the same, giggling. Talyn scowled. “This isn’t on brand,” they hissed. Delilah nudged them. Dolos had similar feelings about his own black swan, apparently, frowning down at it like it had messed up his hair.

“Otherwise it will become permanently tattooed on your skin,” Parrhasius finished. Virgil jerked his hand back, Dolos doing the same on the other side of the room. Patton seemed to think a sparkly white swan tattoo wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, at least not when there was the possibility of transporting it onto every available piece of fabric that existed beforehand.

“AND WHEN YOU DIE YOU DON’T WANT THAT ON YOUR CORPSE.”

Parrhasius rattled off a couple more rules that appeared directly addressed to the Evergirls (no love potions, wear the uniforms, reach out to all and not just those who may supply ball invitations), before finishing with an ominous, “Students who receive three failing grades in a row will be  _ failed _ . No exceptions.”

Virgil’s chest tightened at those words, staring at his hands to avoid looking at anybody. He was going to fail. He  _ knew _ it. What would happen if he failed? Would he be expelled? Would that be a bad thing? Would he just be sent back home, or would he be tossed into the woods? Would he be killed, like Lycastus kept warning? Was it an empty threat or an actual punishment? 

He shivered.

His mind floated above his body, untethered. Everything was happening on another plane of existence, it seemed. He was aware of it, and not, as his mind pulled him away. What would happen if he died? Would he disappear, or would his corpse be left behind? What did they even do to people like him? He wasn’t supposed to be here. Dolos was supposed to be here. Dolos would know what to do.

But Dolos wasn’t here.

Talyn gave him worried looks. He shrank, tucking his head into his shell. He missed his cloak, which was sitting in his room. He would have brought it, but then people would have  _ looked _ at him. Like they were doing now. Delilah was whispering with the boys next to her, and a few girls around her were spreading the words. People kept throwing glances at him. He felt like his uniform ( _ protection _ ) was too tight in all the wrong places and too loose in worse ones. Like he was wearing a sign above his head that screamed, “VILLAIN.”

While he remained lost in his thoughts, Parrhasius and Lycastus left, retreating back to wherever they had come, bickering. Talyn waggled their fingers, catching his attention, and, after giving him a hesitantly happy smile, left with two girls who, despite looking like they’d fit right in with Delilah’s group, seemed perfectly happy with Talyn.

They were walking back to their rooms. Terrence gave him suspicious looks the entire time, but he didn’t say anything. He and Patton seemed to get along really well, keeping up a lively chatter on the way back to their dorm. Terrence shared only one of Patton’s classes (although he was in a few of Virgil’s), Good Deeds, and was in Forest Group 2 with a gnome, which he and Patton bemoaned. Terrence asked Virgil which classes he had, and Virgil managed to stutter out an answer. What had he said? He hoped not anything embarrassing. Terrence gave him an odd look (so many odd looks today… Virgil was almost used to them. Well, not really. But he’d like to think so).

Where was this conversation going? Virgil didn’t know. His swan moved from his blue jacket ( _ protection _ ) to his vest (waistcoat?) when he took it off. It was too hot in here. Now it was too cold. He shivered again. 

Terrence disappeared into Roman’s posse to speak with Leo, and Patton was apparently content to keep talking, so Virgil was left to devote his mind solely on worrying.

Talyn had long since vanished into the crowd. They’d seemed nice, and he wanted to interact with them more. He could use another friendly face. Would Dolos approve?

Actually, he didn’t want to think of Dolos. Not now, at least. He’d be so mad right now, and almost nothing was worse than an angry Dolos. He wouldn’t take it out on Virgil… but Virgil didn’t want to think about the possibility. His coattails were folded in Virgil’s trunk, back up in his dorm room. 

Somebody bumped into him, and Virgil stumbled a bit, catching his balance just in time. “Sorry,” Virgil mumbled, looking at the ground. 

“You apologise too much,” the other person grumbled, and before he could see who that person was, they had left.

Virgil walked along quietly with Patton, who was still talking, this time about his home back in Rainbow (“Raaaaiiinbow!”) Gale. They got back to their dorm, Terrence already there, and Patton delved into another conversation with him while Virgil dressed in loose gray pyjamas that had appeared in his wardrobe. Something crinkled in the pocket of his vest (waistcoat?), where Dolos would have put a watch and chain or something else of the sort, and Virgil curiously unfolded the rose leaf, which was smeared with some sort of-- _ oh _ .

The Evers had left going one way while the Nevers had gone the opposite direction. But somehow, without being noticed, Dolos had managed to slip a message into Virgil’s pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOH LONG CHAPTER! ~4000 words! It deserves a long end-of-story-notes. So, Virgil is in the School for Good now! Hooray! Patton plays Keiko, although he’ll have a much bigger role in the storyline than Keiko did. Terrence will be a side character, mainly, and Talyn will pop up here and there, mainly serving as a foil for Delilah, who’s Beatrix if you were wondering. On a separate note, I’m not sure I portrayed anxiety very well. I have socially-oriented anxious thoughts myself (although I’m not sure I have them often enough and strongly enough to classify it as anxiety), and so I took Virgil’s thought process from experience. I do hope you understood what was happening, though. I also am not completely sure standing up for Talyn is what my version of Virgil would do--he’s too anxious and timid to risk it--but I figured that a large part of what makes Virgil anxious is keeping himself and those he cares about safe, both physically and socially. Talyn is the first person to be kind to him aside from Patton--they have now been included in his group. Also, just so you know for no reason other than the glory of knowledge, Talyn never told Delilah their preferred pronouns. They told their roommates, and Delilah overheard and decided to make fun of them because she's the absolute worst.  
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> \--Vaye


	5. Dolos is NOT Having a Good Time

There was muck in Dolos’ hair. He scrubbed at it as he walked and longed for a mirror, but didn’t know where he’d be able to find one. Definitely not here, at least, where the longer he looked the more faults he found in the people around him. The boy next to him had hair that trailed down his face and down into his clothes. He could see a girl with scabs running down her arms and nails that curved into sharp points. When she reached up to scratch her shoulder, blood ran down her fingers and dripped onto the floor.

Dolos shuddered.

He stumbled through the crowd, a wolf shoving a black sack into his arms. It smelled moldy, and there even seemed to be something blue and pungent stained near the hem. Three holes had been ripped in the top. Inside were a pair of baggy pants a dark brown-red. The redness didn’t seem intentional though. Dolos let the clump of fabric fall out of his arms and onto the floor.

The wolf growled, snagged it off the ground, and thrust it back into Dolos’s hands.

Dolos wrinkled his nose. “No way. I refuse to wear this."

The wolf cracked its whip.

The cloth was somehow even worse when he wore it. It hung off him lumpily and hid every muscle and edge he had worked so hard to achieve. He hated it. Around him, boys were eagerly shoving themselves into the uniforms. The only one Dolos could see not sharing the eagerness of his peers was a sharp boy dressed in elegant clothing, draping a dark blue scarf around his neck. He sent a cold glare at Dolos when he looked up. 

Dolos looked away and cursed himself for doing so.

“Hey! Where’d you go?” 

It was that girl again, the one with tiny, wide-spread eyes that almost looked like they were trying to have a staring contest with each other.

Dolos scrambled away, trying to delve into the crowd. The students around him shot suspicious, malignant stares at him, but he refused to cower, easing into a line. He took the time to survey his surroundings and dig the dirt out of his hair. A worm had somehow made its way into his hair as well, making Dolos wear a look of disgust before casting it aside. A girl with snakes for hair snapped it up eagerly and shoved it in her mouth.

The line shuffled forward. 

They were in an entrance hall of sorts, surrounded by large and tall pillars. N-E-V-E-R, the pillars declared, each sporting a letter. Three staircases sat themselves in the corners, carved with people being stabbed and princesses turning into bears. Mischief, Malice, and Vice.

He somehow found himself at the front of the line. Another wolf, with a dark substance dripping down its jaws, handed him a stack of books tied with a ribbon, before the person behind him shoved him out of the line.

Dolos bit his lip to stop himself from screaming when he realized that the ribbon was a live eel. A.  _ Live _ . Eel. He drew blood, and it tasted bitter on his tongue.

He wrestled the books out from underneath the eel and threw it as far as he could into the crowd, wiping his hands on his sack-tunic and longing for his suit. The wolf had taken it, but it had contained a handkerchief in the pocket that he really could’ve used.

On top of the pile of books sat a schedule, leering at him.

**DOLOS OF WOODS BEYOND**

**VICE, ROOM 16**

That was his name.

But this had to be a mistake. Which was what he told the nearest wolf, holding up his schedule and protesting, “I’m not supposed to be here!” The wolf ignored him.

**Curses & Death Traps** **Dean Remy**

**Henchmen Training** **Lycastus**

**Uglification** **Prof. Odous Han**

**Special Talents** **Prof. Meeba Meeks**

**History of Villainy** **Prof. September Aldin**

**Surviving Fairy Tales** **Chir the Centaur, Group 4**

This seemed… official. Very official. Real. 

Dolos ripped it up, threw it down, and angrily stomped on it.  _ No.  _ The crowd pushed him forward against his will, and he found himself walking through another hall--there were rows and rows of portraits hanging on the walls of this one, each one sneering down at him, as if Dolos had to look upon them with awe unless he wished to face a terrifying punishment. Each one seemed more hideous than the last, although a couple had more of a deadly serenity than grotesque horror feel to them. Dolos almost caught himself feeling grateful he didn’t  _ have _ to go for the crawled-out-of-a-mud-pit look. No. He wouldn’t  _ stay _ here. He was going to get  _ out _ . He didn’t  _ belong _ . He returned to looking at the pictures.

He could see Mother Gothel hanging there, with all of the fake kindness he’d expected in her face. She looked younger. But somehow--scarier. Maybe it was because he’d never thought of Gothel as a child before. She’d started out the same way he had. A child. She was a child once. What had she been like?

Below her plaque were the words “Gothel of Knaves Peak (LEADER).” She had a large, formidable golden frame, alongside several others with the same border. And next to her was the Evil Queen’s Hunter, “Hunter of Necro Ridge (HENCHMAN),” with a frame of silver. Below him was bronze-framed “Iago of Murmuring Mountains (MOGRIFF).” Dolos couldn’t remember an “Iago” in any of the storybooks he had read before. 

That scared him more than he’d have liked to admit.

The portraits slowly lost their frames as Dolos progressed through the hall. One of them looked oddly familiar, “Bane of Woods Beyond,” and Dolos realized that it was somebody from Gavaldon. He squinted up his face and peered at it. Did he--yes, he did, he knew that boy. He was infamous as the girl-biter at their school and had been taken four years prior. 

The plaque read “FAILED” in foreboding jagged red script.

Dolos shied away.

A… gnome-looking thing, similar to a potato with a face, was busy stacking new frames near the end of the line, and Dolos figured that these would be his classmates. “Joan of Bloodbrook” was the name of the homeless-looking boy that Dolos had seen by the moat. “Quill of Sherwood Forest” was a plump, but cheerful girl who seemed too happy to be evil. The look in her eyes quickly dissuaded him from that idea, but it still lingered in his mind.

He recognized one of them, the girl with huge, bulbous bug eyes, thin, stringy hair, and teeth that exploded outward from her face. “Gert,” her name was. Now that was a name as ugly as her face. How fitting. He saw the aforementioned Gert in the crowd and stepped away.

People were flooding to the staircases now, though, hurried along by the wolves. Dolos had begun to go with them ( _ blend in _ ) when he saw-- _ no. _

“Take that down!” His voice was higher than he’d like to admit, but he was too panicked to worry about it. “Stop!”

He grabbed the dwarf’s ladder and tugged on it, sending the tiny man careening towards the ground. Dolos took that moment to scamper up the ladder and pry his fingers under the painting. His breath came in quick gasps, his shaking causing the ladder to wobble beneath him as it became more and more apparent that the painting just  _ wouldn’t come off _ .

He fell off the ladder abruptly. One minute he was in the air, trying to get that God-forsaken painting unstuck from the wall with all of the villains around it and the next he was---falling. He hit the ground with a “thump”, and all of the air was knocked out of him, and for a moment all he could think for a second was “ow.”

Somebody (the dwarf) kicked him in the side. A couple other students kicked him in the head and legs too, just for the fun of it probably, and then continued on normally, leaving Dolos lying there, winded, and dazed.

Staring up at the wall, with his face staring back.

  
  
  


Vice. Room 16. He paused with his hand hovering over the doorknob. Vice tower wasn’t so bad. More mild than what he’d anticipated. More elegant. Refined. He hoped the students here would be the same. Because if he was going to get out of here, he’d need a place to figure it out. 

He opened the door. 

“What are you?”

Dolos froze. It wasn’t a malicious question- it was a curious one. Phrased innocently, like a scientist’s inquiry. It was the boy the question had come from that made it sound prying and creepy. “I’m Dolos,” he said in reply. “Of Gavaldon.”

The other boy made a choking sound that Dolos interpreted as a scoff. “Where’s that?” He asked, and  _ this _ was a malicious question. Mocking. Taunting. “Let me guess, the Pifflepaff hills? Or maybe the Kingdom of Kyrgios?”

“I don’t know where either of those places are.”

“And what’s your name?” The first boy added, leaning forward mockingly. “Is it Tristan? Or Chadwick? Or Galahad or Romeo or  _ Tedros _ ?”

“Dolos.”

The second boy snatched up his schedule from where Dolos had been crumpling it in his fist. “Hmm-Dolos from the Woods Beyond. Beyond the woods?”

The first boy rolled his eyes. “Oh, a Reader. Of course. Only a Reader could be this…  _ dumb _ .”

Dolos felt himself flare up and hurried to calm himself down. He would not sink to their level. He was better than that. He was a  _ prince _ . “A Reader?”

“Someone from the Woods Beyond, you ignorant buffoon,” the second boy sneered. “Where everything is nice and cozy and you can get away being stupidly naive. Man, do we really have to put up with this guy?”

That was just offensive. 

“I’m sorry, but I do think you’re mistaken,” Dolos said, taking great pains to be polite. He was sure his smile was slowly, but surely, becoming more strained by the minute. “I’m supposed to be in the School for Good. There was a mix-up.”

“Hmm--I suppose so,” the first boy said. There was a glint in his eye that Dolos didn’t like. “In that case, Joan, do you think we could get away tossing him out of the window? I’d love to be able to tell Father that I killed my first prince before school had even started.”

What.

“Plausible deniability,” Joan replied, staring at Dolos malevolently. “Can’t break the rules if we don’t know ‘em.”

_ What. _

Dolos backed away, his hand closing around the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. “I  _ beg _ your pardon?”

The first boy’s smile was vicious. “ _ Then beg _ .”

Dolos was completely unprepared for when Joan lunged. He was grabbed around the waist and hoisted up, the first boy steering him by his shoulders to the window. “Wait! Stop!” His head poked over the castle wall. He could feel the wind in his hair.

“Why?” The first boy sounded genuinely curious. Again.

“Because--because--”

“That’s what I thought. Lower him down, Joan.”

Dolos slid down faster than he’d have liked, his hands scrabbling around for a handhold. The castle, though, was made of smooth stone, and there was no handhold in sight.

“Ach--not  _ that _ fast!”

“I want to see his head smash open on the rocks. I want to see his  _ brains _ , Logan.”

“Yes, but we could savor the moment a bit beforehand at least.” Logan’s voice was indignant, and it made Dolos--nope, he was still scared.

“Because I can help you!” He blurted out, and Logan paused.

“With what?”

“I would--I’d do your homework,” Dolos promised, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’d help boost your reputation! I’d--do whatever you want!”

Joan cackled. “Making deals with Nevers! Wow, maybe you’re not a prince after all! Taking the  _ coward’s _ way out like that.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t kill him, then,” Logan said. He genuinely sounded disappointed. Dolos would have been sick, but he felt hands on his ankles lifting him up--before Joan interrupted.

“He’s still a pathetic Reader.”

“Ah.” The hands paused. “That is true. Alright, then.”

And Dolos was back to swaying in the wind again, his tunic riding around his armpits. His hair was sticking straight up and down, the muck acting like a gel and molding the strands into spikes. “Wait! I'm a prince! I’m a real prince!” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to convince them of that when they’d made it so awfully clear that they would kill him for it, but he just--he was a  _ prince _ . Princes weren’t  _ supposed _ to be dangled from hundreds of feet into the air!

“Mm, you know, there really is no evidence for that,” Logan said. “You’re just a reader. Foolish and naive, just like the rest of them.”

“I--I help wounded animals in the woods!” Dolos choked. “I donate silk cloaks to homeless hags!” Even though they didn’t deserve them. “I hand out sugar-free muffins to orphans!” Even though said orphans thought they were disgusting. “I get great grades! I study for every test and I-- _ I made friends with a witch! _ ” 

Logan paused. “You made friends with a what?”

Dolos scrabbled for a handhold. He didn’t find one. “With a witch! He lives in a graveyard and has a demon cat and his mother sells useless potions that she calls medicine to the children and he has sunken eyes and he hates sunlight and the world and happiness and--and  _ he  _ should be here, not me!” He was rambling now, meaning his composure was crumbling, and fast. That wasn’t good. 

Logan made a little “oh?” sound, and there was a long, thoughtful-sounding pause in which Dolos breathed very heavily, trying not to puke. 

“Pull him up, Joan.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Joan heaved Dolos back onto the windowsill, and Dolos grabbed onto the ledge, gasping for air. The blood began flowing back down from his face, causing him to sway. He felt dizzy and nauseous. 

“So, I assume that this  _ witch _ is in the School for Good?” Logan said. He had that glint in his eyes again. 

Dolos nodded wordlessly, not sure if sentences would come out of his mouth if he opened it instead of vomit.

“He could become a useful ally,” Logan said to Joan, who scoffed again.

“We don’t need allies.”

“Who said we can’t betray him later? He could prove to be useful.” Logan snapped back to Dolos, and Dolos flinched away, thinking that Logan would push him over the edge. “Tell me about him.”

“About--Virgil?”

“Yes, about the witch. Tell me about him.”

“He--he stays inside all day. He only comes outside at night. He--looks horrible,” Dolos shuddered, remembering his best friend’s face, which, in his absence, had morphed into a horrific caricature. “He dyed his hair purple with berries, and he scares the children. He walks around the village at midnight, and I don’t know what he does then because he never told me. He wears this big cloak that’s a shade of purple too dark to be royal but too light to be properly mysterious. He never smiles. He never laughs.”

Logan rubbed his chin. “And he was sent to the School for Good.”

“Yes.”

“While you were sent here.”

Dolos bit his lip. “Yes.”

Logan looked Dolos up and down before scoffing. Was that a common Never trait around here? Scoffing? “Well, he obviously belongs here more than you do. We’ll switch you.”

Dolos looked up at him, shocked. “What?” They would… help him?

“Was I not clear?” Logan stalked forward. “We’ll help you switch him if--” he held up a finger. “If you promise to be our spy once you get to the School for Good.”

That seemed like an easy bargain. Dolos eagerly shook Logan’s hand, and Logan smiled a long, creepy smile that made Dolos falter, like he’d somehow made a deal with the devil instead of merely an enemy.

“Good.”

  
  
  


Dolos still didn’t like his roommates, and he wouldn’t have even if they hadn’t tried to kill him. 

“In the meantime,” Logan had said, “you’ll have to fit in with the Nevers.”

“Nevers?”

“Short for Nevermore,” Joan said languidly.

“I’m sorry--I’m still lost.”

“So  _ polite _ all the time,” Logan had said, his mouth twitching up in a wry smile. “Our happily  _ never _ after. Only for the best villains. Castle all to yourself, people to torture all day and night, evil plots to create--and nobody else! Complete isolation.”

“It’s the dream,” Joan had sighed. 

After some time, Dolos found himself traipsing down the hallways again, buffeted by wolves and a few fairies who ignored him when he tried to call out to them, in a black sack of a uniform, flanked by Logan and Joan so he couldn’t escape.

He supposed he could have landed with worse. Joan was the homeless-looking boy he’d seen before. Bright orange hair cropped close to an egg-shaped head. Patchy stubble spotting his cheeks. Sharp teeth that looked like they were stained with blood. He snapped them at Dolos every once and a while, and, even though Dolos knew that they needed him, he still jumped back. Joan would laugh, and Dolos would sulk afterwards.

Logan, on the other hand, was poised. Sharp cheekbones, smooth brown hair. He wore the sack like it was a suit made of silk and he walked like he was a prince. But his eyes were too dark a brown to be even called brown anymore and not black, his canines were a bit sharp, and his ears--he had pointy ears. “Fifth grandson of Maleficent,” he’d declared proudly, which was probably why he was allowed to keep wearing that blue scarf. He was at least part fae folk, then, and he actually was royalty. He was certainly the boss of Joan, although Dolos was surprised he treated Joan so well. If Dolos had been in his position, Joan would have been doing cartwheels for Dolos’ entertainment.

While they were going down to the Welcome Ceremony in the theatre, Logan and Joan decided to strike up a conversation on the best way to murder somebody. Logan was firm on efficiency. “Slice their neck open, poison their drink, snipe them with an arrow from a tower. Very quick and simple,” he had said.

Joan had sneered. “Where’s the fun in that? Hang them from their rafters, blindfolded and gagged. Cut out their heart and make them eat it. Disembowel them— that’d be a show!”

“Disembowel them? Disem _ bowel _ them? Do you know how long it takes to disembowel somebody? Not to mention it gets blood  _ everywhere _ . It's messy and impractical. You’d never get away with it.”

“Exactly. It sends a message. You could make a scene, force their family to watch, dangle the body from a church belltower... So many things you can do with a disemboweled body.”

“It’s a horror to clean up.”

“That’s the point.”

And it went on in that same manner forever. It made Dolos sick. How did he end up here? He was  _ Good _ , not a Never ruffian! His hair was still matted with moat gunk, his outfit was torn and shredded in some places, and his skin was even peeling. There wasn’t any time to clean up, and so he was forced to trudge down with the rest of the group. When he got to the theatre (“The Theatre of Tales,” Logan had said when Dolos had questioned where they were heading, “The only place Evers and Nevers are really allowed to interact other than at lunch, and where the Circus of Talents takes place. Don’t ask any more questions.”), he spotted Gert among the crowd and ducked behind Logan and Joan so they wouldn’t have to interact further.

He looked over at the Ever’s side (with pink and blue glass pews as opposed to their rough wooden ones) and saw it was sparsely occupied with the most beautiful girls he’d ever seen. He looked over at his own side and saw only two girls who looked even remotely approachable: a girl who looked like she’d crawled out of a forest fire and a girl who looked like she lurked in the foyer of the underworld. Neither of which he even considered talking to.

The doors opened at the end of the hall (Dolos jumped; Joan snickered), and around twenty or so princes sauntered out onto the stage. Virgil was one of them, dressed in a light blue, fitted uniform that made him look stunning but… out of place. The shadows underneath his eyes were darker, making him look like a racoon. His hair was a shade too dark, still, even though it should have faded by now. His posture was slouched, as if he was trying to disappear, and his fearful expression didn’t help at all. 

Logan nudged him. “Is that your witch?”

Dolos nodded, wincing. He wanted to walk up to him, shake him until Virgil came back to his senses, then take him somewhere to get him cleaned up. He was making a bad impression on these princes. He was making  _ Dolos _ have a bad impression on these princes. Well--no matter. Dolos straightened in his chair. They’d switch places soon.

The princes revealed that they had roses that they handed off to the girls. Dolos wanted a rose. He’d toss it to that one girl, the one with long blonde hair who was coincidentally also getting considerably more roses than the others. A bouncing boy with glasses handed his off to a fat girl and gave her a hug. Virgil gave his to a girl with blue hair and talked for a while. But Dolos had forgotten about him, because-- _ oh _ .

One final prince had swaggered out of the doors, a sleek katana strapped to his waist. The other boys paused, making it so quiet that you could hear a pin drop in the theatre, before they attacked, moving so simultaneously Dolos almost thought it had been planned.

They didn’t get far, though. Dolos would have swooned if--well, if not for the circumstances. As it was, his face did flush more than he’d have liked to admit. The unnamed prince disarmed them effortlessly, his movements smooth and precise, his muscles rippling under a uniform that sparkled in the light and cut across his figure perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and perfect proportions. 

The unknown prince paused, frowning, and somehow making the expression look gorgeous. “Well?”

Dolos followed his gaze (his beautiful, brown eyes that gleamed like he was longing to throw a wink to the crowd but was too above it all to do so) to Virgil, who was still talking--arguing, he was arguing now, and with--with the beautiful girl. Why was he even allowed to speak with her? She was out of his league by miles. Virgil turned, surprised, and examined the scene. His shoulders were stiff. “Well, what?”

“Giving up before you’ve even started? Not very chivalrous of you.” The prince blew some of the hair out of his face, and Dolos felt his own face turn bright red. Logan gave him a curious look. Dolos ignored him.

“That’s Prince Roman,” Logan whispered. “Of Camelot.”

Dolos started (a  _ prince _ )--but Logan had already turned back around, whispering with Joan.

One of the boys, the one with glasses who had been beaten almost immediately, gave Virgil a thumbs up. After he’d been disarmed, Dolos remembered, he’d simply scooped his sword up again, shaken Roman’s hand, and then bounced off. It was unnerving, his cheerfulness. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Well--no--” Virgil stuttered. Dolos wanted to hit him over the head with Roman’s sword.  _ Don’t be such a coward!  _ he wanted to scream.  _ Fight him! _

“Well then, no use in dragging it out.” Roman sank into an offensive stance. Virgil copied him. His eyes were darting to the crowd and back. He was distracted. What was he doing? He was going to  _ lose _ ! If Virgil lost, he might be kicked out and expelled or  _ killed _ , and if that happened then Logan would have no incentive to help him, so Dolos would never get to go to the School for Good, and he’d never get to meet  _ Roman _ . Oh. And Virgil might possibly lose his life. That too.

Roman charged, like he had with the other boys, and Virgil immediately turned away and ran. Dolos felt his face grow red again, but for a different reason. Virgil was acting like a coward. An agile coward, Dolos noted, as Virgil scurried up a pillar, but a coward nonetheless. Princes weren’t supposed to run. They were supposed to face their problems head on and beat them into the ground. Virgil wasn’t supposed to be a prince. It was  _ obvious _ .

The beautiful girl smirked.

“Seriously?” Roman asked, his voice so silky and smooth Dolos could swim in it, even while it was pitched into a petulant whine. “Are you just--this isn’t a great fight. I mean, come  _ on _ Charlie Frown, are you really just going to stay up there the whole time?”

Virgil muttered something, and Roman gasped. Dolos wanted to gasp too. He hadn’t heard what Virgil had said, but he doubted it was good. Virgil’s sword came clattering to the ground despite Roman being nowhere near disarming him. Dolos crumpled up his face. Again. Coward. Virgil slunk back to his seat next to the glasses-boy and the blue-haired girl. Was the glasses-boy his friend? That… gave Dolos a bad feeling inside. Virgil didn’t make friends that easily. That wasn’t… normal. Virgil was  _ his _ friend.  _ His _ .  _ His _ friend was--slipping away from him.  _ Leaving  _ him.

He had to fix that.

The doors opened again, but Dolos wasn’t paying attention, too busy staring at Roman, who, he noticed, had a very square jaw. What did he smell like? Like… He sniffed, trying to be discreet. Like--cold steel and paper. He opened his eyes and noticed the beautiful one with her head on Roman’s shoulder. He scowled and looked up to ask Logan a question and--great  _ storybooks _ , what was  _ that _ ?

The two-headed dog was snapping as it waddled out onto the stage. Dolos recoiled in shock. It tipped over, fumbled back up, and yelled some more. Dolos was barely registering any of it (still thinking about Virgil and  _ Roman _ and the  _ weird dog-times-two-and-a-half _ in front of him) until Logan nudged him.

“Pay attention,” he hissed. “This is important.”

“Now, students must remain in their assigned schools at all times,” the head on the right declared. What was it called?

“OR THEY WILL DIE,” the left-hand head finished.

Dolos was definitely going to break that rule. He doubted the left-head would actually kill anybody. He then noticed a small trail of some dark colored substance dribbling down his jaw. ...or maybe he? It? would.

“Students will not kill their fellow students,” the right-head continued. “And no going into the Endless Woods after dark either. Students, as well as the teachers and  _ deans _ are forbidden from interfering with the Storian.” Oh, the dog was listing rules. Alright.

“UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE, IN WHICH CASE FEEL FREE.”

“What’s the Storian?” Dolos asked himself.

“Magic pen that writes storybooks,” Joan said.

“Oh.” He was definitely messing with that if he got the chance. He shouldn’t be at the School of Evil; there must’ve been a mix-up. Maybe the Storian could help with that.

“Do not disturb the gargoyles. Students should not attempt to conceal or remove the swan on their uniforms.”

What swan? Dolos examined his sack of a uniform and found a black swan glistening there, just above his heart. He pulled some of the fabric over to cover it, but the swan just transferred over like it was a beam of light. That was going to be annoying.

“Otherwise it will become permanently tattooed on your skin,” the right-hand head finished. Dolos jerked his hand back. Logan’s mouth twitched up while Joan giggled like a little girl, but more evil. Damn these Nevers and their dark sense of humor.

“AND WHEN YOU DIE YOU DON’T WANT THAT ON YOUR CORPSE.”

The right-hand head rattled off a couple more rules that Dolos didn’t really take to heart (no love potions, wear uniforms, reach out to all and not just those who ball invitations are expected to come from), before finishing with an ominous, “Students who receive three failing grades in a row will be  _ failed _ . No exceptions.”

That would be fine--he could just hop over and go to the School for Good, where he really belonged. He didn’t want to be  _ good _ at being  _ bad _ anyway. He doubted that the left-hand head (despite having red eyes, and mangy black fur, and blood crusted around its muzzle, and huge fangs that could definitely do damage) would hurt a student. So, he was fine. Totally fine. He snuck a peek at Virgil, who looked petrified. Ah, there was his spineless friend. He wasn’t exactly sure if Virgil was  _ evil _ \--but he definitely wasn’t a prince. Logan seemed to share the same thoughts, with the added bonus (demonstrated by a judgmental side-eye) that Virgil wasn’t  _ Dolos,  _ and therefore preferable _. _

They retreated back to their dorms. Logan and Joan went ahead of him, arguing about the best ways to murder someone again, but Dolos crept back. If he was going to do this, he’d need a way to contact Virgil. But what--? A plan popped into his head like somebody had lit a bonfire in his brain, and he knew what he had to do.

He snuck up to an Evergirl who was craning her neck around, looking for her friends; she hadn’t found them yet and was surrounded by people (she’d feel safe) but alone, and so he could approach her without too many stares. He ducked his head as he walked, combing his hands through his hair to try to get out the worst of the mud.

She jumped when she saw him. “Oh! I didn’t see you there.”

He sported a small smile, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, glancing up at her through his eyelashes in a bashful way that still emphasized how long his eyelashes were. “I was just wondering if I could ask you something, if it doesn’t trouble you, my lady?”

The Evergirl blushed, and Dolos innerly cheered. Then her eyes flickered to his clothes, and she got a bit of a confused look on her face. He let his eyes widen a bit, a puppy-dog look, and the blush was back. “Oh, of course! What did you need?”

“Could I… I’m a bit embarrassed to ask this of you, but could I borrow your lipstick?” he asked with a charming smile, gently taking one of her hands. Her skin was soft, and she wore pink nail polish. He let his eyes glance down at her feet, conveying the perfect amount of embarrassment. “I’m sure a princess as gorgeous as you does not have any real need for it.”

“Now that you mention it, I actually do have my lipstick on me. One moment!” She rummaged into the small purse she was carrying around, eventually pulling out a shiny gold stick. “Here you go! And for the record, I don’t think you really need it either. You’re such a handsome fellow!” Inside his mind, he sneered. He didn’t need it for  _ himself _ . He was a  _ guy _ , and guys didn’t wear makeup. But he was careful not to let any of that show on his face.

Dolos swiftly snatched it as she offered it to him. “I give all my thanks, my fair lady,” he replied smoothly, even bending down to kiss her hand before winking and walking away. The Evergirl giggled to herself before locating her friends (had she ever lost them? Maybe it was a tactic to get boys to help her, clever) quickly after that and went, tittering, after them, her face still flushed, and he turned aside to scrabble a message on--on--on what? On the floor, on the pews, on the  _ leaf fallen on the floor from one of the roses _ that he snatched up and clutched tightly. It was a bit wet in his hands, and he hurried to wipe off the moisture as he opened the lipstick (it was light pink, tints of orange, but her hair was darker and her eyes were blue; a darker, bolder shade would’ve complimented her feature so much better) to write with.

Where was Virgil? He had disappeared into the crowd, and Dolos was uncertain of if he could go after him wearing a literal sack--but then there he was, walking with the glasses-haired boy from earlier, appearing to be lost in thought. But Dolos knew he was panicking. He strode ahead, then turned back around towards the theatre again and purposefully bumped into Virgil on his way back. He slid the note in Virgil’s pocket (he had  _ pockets _ . Dolos did not. Why did he get to have pockets?! That wasn’t fair at all!) and kept walking, back to the Never side of the theatre.

Nobody had noticed.

HALFWAY BRIDGE. ASAP. WE NEED TO TALK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is finally here!! And only after a couple days of the small story! Speaking of, if you haven't read it yet, you don't have to as it doesn't pertain to the canon timeline of the main fic, but it's a small little ficlet I think y'all would enjoy.
> 
> Just wanting to clear a couple things up:  
> \- The reason the pronouns used for Joan are he/him is because Dolos isn't aware of Joan being non-binary and therefore used different pronouns.  
> \- More on the name changes: Meeba Meeks is basically Sheeba Sheeks (character in original SGE series), but with 'M' instead of 'Sh'. Gert is virtually the genderbent version of Hort, and it's short for Gertrude...but without the rude part. Odous is Odious, but yknow, different, and Han because the word Man is Han but with an H instead of a M. Beezle is Beedle because... well, why not. Most of the credit goes to Vaye for the creative names! Be sure to send lots of luffs her way! <3
> 
> On another note, we finally see the appearance of new characters!! Yes, Logan and Joan are both Nevers. How Joan's personality and Logan's pure intellectual wit will affect the future drama with Virgil and Dolos, we shall see~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! We're always open to comments, questions, and constructive criticisms!!
> 
> ~Caellie E


	6. Virgil Has the Directional Prowess of a Drugged Cockroach That's Bad at Navigation, and Dolos Decides to Be Impatient and Ditch Him

Where the heck was Halfway Bridge?

Virgil would have asked Patton, but that was an obviously bad idea, although he doubted Patton would ever even think of tattling on him. Patton was too good-natured for that, a fact that was pretty obvious, even if he  _ had  _ only known him for less than a day. He and Terrence were both stretched out on their beds in Honor 13, flipping through their textbooks and comparing schedules, just generally getting to know each other. Virgil had made an excuse about leaving something in the theatre, and while Patton had looked unsure, neither questioned it (Virgil could never thank them enough for that) and let him do as he pleased.

Which was to get completely, hopelessly lost somewhere in the depths of Good Castle, apparently.

He was stumbling through dark corridors and empty hallways, his heart pounding wildly. He was lost. Oh man, he was so, irrefutably, lost. How was he going to get back? It was dark outside. It was dark outside, and he was out past curfew, and Dolos was probably waiting and--andhe was  _ lost _ . Patton was probably worried. He, himself, was worried. Worried and lost and walking around in the dark with his old cloak wrapped around his shoulders and his new boots giving him blisters. He passed an open corridor that held a plaque reading something about a museum. He doubted that would lead him where he wanted, so he quickly passed it.

And then ducked backwards into the hallway because  _ someone was coming, two people were coming, two people were coming, approaching, talking, and they would catch him they would catch him they would catch and he’d be killed expelled killed and Dolos Dolos Dolos would be mad at him and- _

“Anyway, enough of that. How’s  _ your _ Reader doing?” The voice was high. Energetic. It reminded him of Patton, in a way.

“ _ Ugh. _ Don’t remind me of  _ that _ mess.” A second voice. Lower, drawling, sarcastic.

“Oh, he can’t be that bad!”

“Babe.  _ Babe _ . He isn’t  _ bad _ . He’s  _ worse. _ He’s Gothel and Frollo and flipping  _ Gaston _ all rolled into one. He crawled out of the pits of punishment and charmed Death into letting him stay. He’s flaunting his demon wings like they were gifted to him by an angel. He manipulates everyone he meets. He’d probably betray even his henchmen if given the chance. Did you see what he did to Lauraly? She’s infatuated with him now, and he’s probably forgotten her name if he ever bothered to learn it in the first place! The Nevers who’ve noticed think he’s horrible and don’t want to be near him. Both of his roommates had requested a change before  _ something _ happened, and now they’re stoutly pretending that they love him, but I think they may murder him in his sleep. He could convince the Storian that it turned into an elephant while nobody was looking, lie his way into heaven, and hit God in the head with a baseball before convincing Him that it was Gabriel.  _ Babe _ . I hate him. He’s messing up the other students.”

“You’re  _ Evil _ . You  _ like _ manipulative people who betray everyone around them.”

“Oh, low blow. You know that that’s, like, totally different. Hey, I’m gonna, like, give him messed _ up _ dreams about that girl now. Just to--like--mess with him.”

The two people were coming closer. Virgil shrank back.

“Remy!”

“ _ What _ ? It’d be fun. Hey, but come  _ on _ , Ems. You have to agree that he’s, like, totally unhealthy to be around.”

The first person sighed. “Yeah… Hey--you should have a talk. Teach him about proper henchmen-villain relationships and all that! It’d be _good_ for him.”

“Ew. Work. Who has time for that?”

The two people passed him, and now he could see what they looked like. Sort of. One had on a pink tie. The other one had darkened spectacles and a shiny black jacket. Virgil couldn’t see anymore than that without getting caught. He peered after them, but they had turned a corner and vanished.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

He yelped and scurried out of the corridor ( _ panic panic panic sudden scare what was that what that what what’s happening panic panic PANIC).  _ The hand belonged to one of the teachers, one who wore a crisp suit and a kind smile that only did a bit to ease the pounding in Virgil’s ears. “You’re out late,” he said amiably. Roman scowled behind him. The look did nothing to his face. Great. More things to hate about ol’ perfect Roman.

“ _ Wachhht ahrhe _ \--” he gulped down his stutter, but it left a bad aftertaste of fear. “What are you doing here?” He had meant it towards Roman, but the teacher answered. The same teacher who’d given Virgil the rose earlier.

“I’m a history teacher,” the teacher (September Aldin, he knew now) said. “I like museums.” He turned, slightly, and gestured Roman forward. “Nobody else does, sadly. Roman here was sneaking around as well--although when  _ I _ found him he was doing something entirely different.”

Virgil turned his head curiously, but didn’t ask. He didn’t want to sound annoying and prying; besides, it was probably personal anyway.

“Why are  _ you _ here?” Prof. Sader asked. Not judgmentally. Just… like he was asking Virgil where he got a specially high-quality shirt, or how he was faring that particular day. Virgil felt himself calm down almost against his will. 

“I…” Tell the truth? Lie? Tell a half-truth? “I got lost.”

The man sighed, but his eyes glimmered. “Nobody ever comes to the library on purpose. I found Prince Roman here… well, nevermind that.”

And that did absolutely  _ nothing  _ to satisfy Virgil’s curiosity. His  _ growing _ curiosity. Though, he knew it wasn’t his place to ask. 

“Where were you going?” Prof. Aldin asked now, and Virgil looked away.

“Halfway Bridge, hopefully.”

“You aren’t allowed to go there?” Roman asked, and it sounded like a question. Roman raked his eyes up and down Virgil’s frame before pursing his lips and making a derisive noise. But he seemed curious. Virgil was, too.

“All Parrhasius said was the other school. I’m not going to the other school. I’m going to the bridge. That’s only halfway. The bridge halfway.  _ Halfway _ Bridge.” He sounded mocking. He wasn’t mocking. He needed to be  _ polite _ . Dolos would have told him to be polite.

Prof. Aldin scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose Roman could show you there. For the satisfaction of your curiosity, of course. Educational purposes.”

Roman gave him a haughty look. “Why not.”

He grabbed Virgil’s arm and tugged him away. Virgil stumbled. His grip was too tight. “Just be back soon!” Prof. Aldin called after them.

They walked (tugged? dragged?) in silence for a few moments, but then Roman roughly released his arm (Virgil shook it out) and said, “at least you’re not a complete coward.”

“Thanks?”

Another pause.

“Although you’re definitely too jumpy.”

“There’s a lot to jump at.”

Roman looked away, and Virgil tugged at his cloak. He’d fetched it from his room, taken off the most of the outerwear from the uniform, including the sword-belt, and just slung it over the white shirt, pants, and boots. He’d thought he’d looked half-decent, but standing next to Roman, he felt inadequate. Inferior. Like a witch.

“Why do you need to go to Halfway Bridge anyway?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Roman’s face screwed up and he leaned away, looking petulant. He waved his hand around. Virgil noticed he did that a lot. “Secrets, secrets are no fun, tell me now or else  _ we’re done _ .”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the phrase.” 

Roman gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest in much the same gesture that he’d done earlier that day. “Uh! Come  _ on _ Count Woe-laf. Mystery  _ loves _ company.”

“That’s… also not the phrase. It’s  _ misery _ loves company.” He sounded bossy. Virgil knew he sounded bossy. Dolos would have glared at him. Dolos wasn’t there. 

And Roman was being… really annoying.

“Not for me it’s not! I’m not feeling  _ any  _ love, or misery, because it’s a mystery for me and me alone!” He clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, tilting his head to the side and blinking his eyes and pouting. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee--”

Virgil physically shied away from him. He wanted Roman to like him. He wanted to make him happy, but this would just weird him out, and he didn’t want to say anything but he had to, and “Okay--fine!” 

“Yay!” Roman clapped his hands delightedly and twirled, reminding Virgil distinctly of Patton. He wondered if they’d get along--probably, if Patton’s overwhelmingly friendly demeanor was anything to go by. They turned the corner.

“I’m trying to  _ meet _ …” Virgil hesitated, thinking of a way to phrase this that wouldn’t make it sound weird. “A  _ friend _ .”

“Oooh, a romantic rendezvous?” Roman wiggled his shoulders, and Virgil could feel his face flushing.

“No! He’s just a friend.” Virgil stiffened. And he tried not to recoil.  _ No _ . He wasn’t supposed to talk about that. He was told not to talk about that. Why was Roman talking about that? That wasn’t something to talk about. That was something to  _ avoid _ . Dolos said that was something to avoid.

Roman sighed overdramatically. “Sad.”

Virgil hesitated. Dolos said that was bad. Dolos said that wasn’t  _ right _ . It wasn’t the princely thing to do, or say, or  _ be. _ But Roman seemed like  _ the prince _ . And Virgil was uncertain. And he didn’t like feeling uncertain. Because in Gavaldon, nobody would have talked to him for at least a week. Dolos hadn’t even looked at him when Virgil mentioned it last for three days. It was just  _ bad _ . Inherently bad. Not prince-like.

And Roman was acting like it was  _ normal _ .

And Virgil was uncertain.

They reached the end of the corridor and made a few more turns, this time in complete silence. 

“So… what’s up with the…” Roman waggled his fingers over Virgil’s forehead and down to his chin, snapping his fingers. 

“My… face.”

“Yes! What is  _ up _ with your  _ face! _ ” 

Virgil could feel said face redden. “I—“

“I mean, that  _ can’t _ be your real face. Look at those bags!” Roman prodded underneath Virgil’s eyes, and Virgil whacked his hand away.

“It’s my real face,” Virgil said. He hunched into his cloak, and Roman rolled his eyes.

“Well, you’re a complete witch, aren’t you?” Roman didn’t know how close he was to the truth.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Virgil muttered. 

“That’s obvious.”

“No--not in the other school either,” he corrected. “I just want to go home to my mom, my cat, and my graveyard.”

“You live in a graveyard? Yeesh, you aren’t helping your case at  _ all _ .” Roman strode ahead, and Virgil felt tears come to his eyes. More from his exhaustion than any insult, but the insult definitely helped nothing. He wiped them away, hurriedly,  _ princes don’t cry _ , and followed.

Finally, they had approached what Virgil thought was supposed to be the Halfway Bridge. The sun was setting, but it hadn’t set completely yet, hovering over the blue trees and casting a warm glow over the two castles. It was beautiful, but... 

“Where’s your buddy?” 

Dolos wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you’d think after not writing in this for a bit longer than usual, the chapter would be similarly longer, right? A consistent ratio of lateness-to-length? Nope! Sorry about both the wait and the length. Next one should be longer! And sooner! Hopefully!  
> Has anyone been able to get Remy’s voice down? If you know someone who has tell me. This dude is HARD. So is Roman! They have all these hand gestures and facial expressions that I try to get across through emphasis and word placement that just don’t feel right to me. It's infuriating. More infuriating than all the times Dolos decides to flirt with people and Caellie and I have to panic because we don't know how to flirt and asking older siblings would be weird and we didn't want to have that on our search history and--  
> Speaking of Roman, yeah, he isn’t doing so hot at the whole being nice thing. He is at the whole acceptance thing, though! Unlike everyone else. Who are going to be… not the greatest? Only really Talyn and Patton and maybe Terrence will be nice to him, and a few others, if only because I don’t want to sully the names of Thomas’ friends. The next chapter should be out soon! Well... don’t get your hopes up. I think we all knew that this would have a VERY irregular posting schedule. But! This time Caellie won't get her chapters confused and remember that she did, in fact, check through this chapter since it was not, in fact, chapter 9 and did not, in fact, have any of those gosh darn flirting scenes.  
> ...  
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> \--Vaye


	7. (Not) Grand High Witch Ultimate!

Dolos was busy. Very, very busy. And more than a little frustrated. He still felt irked whenever he thought of the reflection he’d found on Halfway Bridge (“Good with Good, Evil with Evil, back to your castle before there’s upheaval!”). And the giant wave. The  _ giant _ ,  _ magical _ wave.

He had to know what that was.

He had to know how to get past it.

Logan had been no help, although that was probably because Dolos had never told him all of the details. Instead he had concocted a lie about getting into an intellectual spat with one of the Everboys (which explained his absence when walking back to their room) who had superior knowledge about the workings of Halfway Bridge. Dolos had, apparently, gone to investigate himself, hoping that first-hand experience would top the unnamed Everboy’s textbook facts, but, while he did encounter both the forcefield guardian and the giant wave, he was unable to identify the workings of either. He lamented all of this in passing, and he even bemoaned the fact that, well, surely no other first-year had the intelligence needed to solve this riddle, and, if they did, they’d surely be leagues ahead of the rest of them and would probably refuse to help anyway. 

Logan had bought this hook-line-and-sinker, and, while he’d failed to do what Dolos had hoped, (instantly spring up for a presentation on exactly what the barrier was, and, more importantly, how to get past it), Dolos could see the gears in his head turning as he walked away. When Logan casually asked for a more thorough description of these phenomena, well, Dolos was happy to oblige. 

Best-case scenario, Logan documented his research, and Dolos could steal a peek. Worst, Logan did it all in his head, and Dolos weaseled the information out of him later. Either way, Dolos would be able to figure out a path to Good Castle as soon as Logan did.

But for now—oh, he  _ hated  _ now. If the present was actually a gift, he would’ve resolved to find the person who’d given it to him and give it back with a passive aggressive note and a subtle plan to ruin their entire future along with it. 

He was sitting in a classroom that was way too cold, in a frozen chair, amongst people who had to have come straight from the depths of the underworld, about to learn about _curses_ and _death traps_. And everybody was giving him looks except Logan. He _hated it_. So much. This wasn’t the attention he’d wanted and asked for. It was unwanted and unwelcoming and hostile and he hated it. Just what he needed. Thanks, universe.

The teacher wasn’t there yet. However, shrieks and yells and sobs were sharply filtering through the icy floor, drawing more attention than the lack of a professor. Almost more than himself, if the constant sneers and hisses and annoyed glares meant anything. 

Another scream shot out of the floor and hit Dolos in the face. He stiffened. What was going  _ on  _ down there? Even Joan was stealing nervous looks at the crystalline ice. Only Logan seemed completely unaffected, at least, as far as Dolos could tell. Dolos was sitting right smack in the middle, figuring that it was the best place to not be noticed. Logan, though, was sitting in the front, with Joan a row behind him. 

Dolos looked around their icy room and tried to ignore the bodies frozen in the walls.

The door slammed shut at the back of the classroom, and Dolos jumped. Joan snickered, as if he hadn’t startled too.

“... _ Hey _ .”

Dolos craned his head around—but then whipped it back when he realized that the man had appeared not in the back of the classroom through the door, but lazily leaning against his frozen desk. He tilted his shaded glasses down and winked at them, taking a slow, slurping sip from the straw poking out of his glass cup. He cleared his throat. “I’d say I was sorry about being late _,_ but I’m really not guys. Like, _not_ —at— _all._ And who has time for apologies anyway? Let’s just move on!” He drifted around to the back of his desk and plopped down in his chair, sticking his feet up and taking another noisy slurp of his drink. Dolos recoiled a bit. Was _this_ the dean of the literal school for villains? “Lemme introduce myself. I’m _Remy,_ the Dean, and this is Curses and Death Traps, so if any of you were looking for something else, you’re in the _wrong_ place _._ Literally, you’re like, completely lost. Get out.” 

The door creaked open, and somebody slipped out, although Dolos couldn’t tell who. Remy shook his head and sipped at his drink (it was brown—coffee?). “There’s always one.  _ Always. _ Maybe I should, like, put a sign on the door or something.  _ Every time.  _ Come on.”

Dolos looked around. The other students seemed just as confused, past the dirty looks they kept shoving at him. Except Logan, apparently, who appeared to be permanently nonchalant.

Another piercing shriek crawled out of the floor and soared around the classroom. Dolos clamped his hands over his ears. Remy sniffed and snapped his fingers near his ear a couple times, muttering something under his breath. The screaming abruptly stopped. 

Remy gave the pit a judgmental eyebrow. “Somebody in the Doom Room already _?” _ He scoffed, cleared his throat, and adjusted his jacket, which seemed to be made of some sleek black material—shined leather, probably. “ _ Any _ way, let’s get  _ started _ .”

This was their teacher, then. But he didn’t look disgusting or gross or  _ evil _ . He didn’t talk with a cackle every other word or overly eloquent like Logan or horrifically crude like Joan. He was just--Dolos didn’t know what to call him.

He took another sip from his coffee. Ice cubes rattled around in it as he swirled his cup around. Was he not already freezing? Dolos peered at his teacher and realized--nope, Remy seemed completely unaffected. Unaffected by  _ him _ , too. He’d expected that at least a teacher would switch him to the School for Good. But Remy seemed completely ignorant of his special status. 

“So. Let’s talk  _ Nemeses _ .” Remy swung his legs back onto his desk, tossing his empty cup aside. It shattered on the floor and disappeared. Dolos flinched. “Who here knows what a Nemesis is? You.”

Logan cleared his throat. “An arch-enemy. Someone you’re fated to fight against forever. Like a soulmate, but with more hatred.”

Remy shot him finger guns. “Correct-a-mundo--a word I have never used and… yeah, never will again--you’re Madrid’s son, right? Named Malintent, son of Malintent, son of Maleficent, daughter of Maleficent, daughter of Maleficent… I remember her. I taught her that sleep spell.” Some more finger guns. “I have  _ high  _ hopes for you,  _ mister _ . Now!” He clapped his hands and stood up abruptly. Everything about him was slow, languid, drawling--until it wasn’t. The sudden changes of claps, sweeps, and movements that turned into long, drawn out sighs, leisurely raised eyebrows, and sarcastic handwaves continually caught Dolos off guard.

That was probably the point.

“In other classes, you’ll learn how to commit murder without feeling anything or turn yourself into a hag (who  _ wants _ to do that? Be honest!) or make lightning flash from the sky, but in  _ this _ class, we’re going to be a bit more…  _ poised _ .” The word was viciously said, poison falling from his professor’s lips. And just like that, Remy became serious. It was a sudden switch, curves turning to sharp edges, smooth smirks to predatory stares. “There will be no meaningless violence in my classroom, or unnecessary manipulation. We do not  _ play _ with our food, children. No toying, or torturing, or  _ trifling _ . Our task will be much more subtle, but it will guide you for the rest of your life.”

The flip switched again and Remy smiled again, that small, almost seductive smile. Dolos shivered, but he had stopped feeling the cold. “In other words, we’ll be trying to find your Nemesis! Logan explained them  _ very  _ well, but I’ll go into a bit more detail! Personally, I like  _ anti-soulmate _ instead. It has such a nice feel to it, ya know?  _ Your soul’s inverse. _ They grow stronger, you grow weaker and vice-versa, all that jazz. That’s not what’s important, though.”

Dolos forced himself to pay attention. Even if he wasn’t a Never, he’d still have a Nemesis. It might be beneficial to know who it was.

“Who here knows about, like, Nemesis  _ dreams _ ?”

  
  
  


Henchman Training was worse. So much worse. He sat in a room that smelled like all of the worst parts of a barn, trying to breathe through his mouth as he waited. The classroom was at the top of Malice tower, in the Belfry, with wide-open windows and half of the wall carved out, allowing the frigid air to whisk through them. Dolos would have thought that would help get rid of the stench, but somehow it just made it worse. He shivered. Logan had gone off to a separate class while Joan had tailed him here. 

If Dolos had to bet, he’d guess that all of his classes would have one of them with him. They seemed determined to keep an eye on him. He didn’t blame them. He’d do the same.

When Lycastus wobbled in, he had the dog body all to himself. Parrhasius was somewhere else, it seemed, with some other form, and Dolos vaguely wondered how the other dog head was getting places. 

“WELCOME TO HENCHMAN TRAINING,” Lycastus barked, trotting up to the front of the room. Joan shifted his weight so he leaned onto his desk, looking eager. Dolos, inversely, had instinctively shied away from the foul-smelling, spitting dog with red eyes, and he thought Joan’s method was stupid. The red eyes in question surveyed the classroom, and Lycastus’s mouth turned down in what could only be described as a sneer. 

A tiny figure scampered through the door behind him, and Dolos realized with a start that it was the gnome he’d shoved off the ladder on his first day of school. The dwarf introduced himself as “Beedle,” and he gave Dolos a  _ very  _ distrustful look as he passed. Dolos gladly reciprocated. Joan did, too, for some reason. 

“Your henchman will aid you in your quest against your Nemesis--and if you don’t know what those are, whatever, not  _ my _ problem.” Lycastus huffed. “Of course, some of you will become henchmen yourselves… So better pay attention if you want to survive!”

“Or don’t and  _ die!” _ Beedle cackled. 

Lycastus hobbled over to the side of the room. With his back to them, Dolos could see that there was a huge, festering gash in the back of his head. How had…? And Lycastus was talking again, and Dolos startled into paying attention.  _ Enemy secrets _ . He had to listen.

“For your first challenge, you’ll be training a Golden Goose.”

Dolos didn’t see the importance of this, but Joan (and a few other students) gasped. 

“But those  _ hate _ Nevers,” one of his classmates, a boy with crude horns jotting out from behind his ears, whispered loudly.

“Then after this, training a mountain troll will be easy.” Lycastus snagged the corner of a black-cloaked figure in the back of the room and tugged the cloth off, revealing it to be a  _ very _ proud-looking goose, its wings shimmering. It gave them a serene smile and rearranged its feathers.

“Why--why is it smiling?” A vulture-y girl asked warily.

“It knows we’re wasting our time,” Joan drawled, dropping his stubbled chin into his hand. 

Lycastus scowled at them, but moved on, probably considering this a waste of  _ his _ time. “There are five main strategies for taming a henchman,” he said, the list scrawling itself out in the air next to him, and Dolos had to wonder where Lycastus got the magical ability. Then again, he was a talking dog head, and anything was possible, apparently. 

  1. _Command_
  2. _Taunt_
  3. _Trick_
  4. _Bribe_
  5. _Bully_



“Your goal is to make the goose give you the biggest egg,” Lycastus said. Dolos had no qualms about that. It didn’t sound so evil. And, anyway, he could always just do strategies 1 or 4, which seemed much more  _ gray _ than  _ bad _ . 

“Don’t go jump ahead to ‘bully,’” Lycastus warned. “Ain’t nothing stopping a henchman from bullying back.”

Dolos didn’t exactly understand that (Henchmen were… not  _ lesser _ , inherently, but inferior certainly, they had earned their position as much as a fully-fledged  _ villain _ , what was so wrong about mistreating them with that in mind?), but he nodded like he did, and Lycastus moved on, herding them into straggled, chaotic order. Dolos made sure he scored a spot smack dab in the middle where he wouldn’t be novel as the first nor memorable as the last, and Joan, of course, managed to shove his way a few spaces before him, constantly turning around to give Dolos the side-eye. 

So, Dolos was in the perfect position to watch the first five students fail. Anic (the horned boy’s name) even went so far as to grab the goose’s throat, only to get one of those sweet smiles in return, and Dolos began to think this was a test.

Until, miraculously, it was Gert who managed to get the first egg. She tried demanding (“ _ Lay egg _ ”), calling it a hair-brained, good-for-nothing roach, tempting it with worms she’d pulled out of her hair, and finally reversing her first attempt (“ _ Don’t _ lay egg”) before giving up and kicking its nest in frustration. 

In a flash the goose whipped forward and in one sudden tug had pulled Gert’s tunic over her head and sent her stumbling around the classroom, shrieking and banging into walls. Dolos blinked in surprise and grimaced. Her chest was wrapped, thankfully, but the sheer pastiness and spottiness and flabbiness and overall  _ grossness _ of her midsection and shoulders were enough to make Dolos promise himself that if he saw her without a shirt on  _ one _ more time, he’d gouge out his own eyes. 

This made the goose delighted. It laughed so hard that it lost control and laid an egg the size of a coin, which Gert pounced upon the second she’d wrangled her shirt back on and, completely shameless, held up in triumph. “I won!”

Lycastus rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, the red glow making it look a bit like a jack-o-lantern tumbling down a hill. “Right, because you’ll always have enough time to parade around half-naked and make your goose fart out an egg. Next!”

And, of course, Lycastus had said that whoever had the  _ biggest _ egg won, so the other Nevers mimicked Gert’s tactic. Quill made faces. Jamahl told jokes. Dusa’s hair-snakes bit Beedle, which the goose found hilarious, but not egg-worthy, apparently. 

Joan simply punched the goose in the stomach. It coughed out an egg the size of a fist, which he smugly examined. “Amateurs,” he sneered, and promptly found the position in the classroom best suited for watching Dolos. Because then, it was his turn.

He approached the Golden Goose warily, worried that it might snatch his clothes like it had Gert, or maybe peck him like it had Vix. Instead, it went still, and Dolos realized--this goose, it was practically Good’s mascot. He felt a chill run through him, like somebody had snuck into his soul and let in a draft. The goose studied every inch of him, and Dolos stood up straighter, sure that this goose must _see that he’s different he’s different tell them he’s different--_

**Yes, you certainly** **_are_ ** **… unique.**

_ What? _ Dolos backed up a step, glancing around to see if any of the other Nevers had noticed. Joan was watching him curiously, but his  _ (not _ ) peers mainly seemed annoyed that he was taking so long, and Groo, the boy behind him, kicked him in the knee because he’d stepped on his foot. Nobody had noticed. Nobody had heard.

It was just him.

Dolos turned back to the goose.  **You can hear my thoughts?**

**Yes. They’re rather loud, actually.**

**What about the others?**

**No, just you.**

**Because I’m Good?** Did he dare let that glimmer of hope any further into his heart? He didn’t exactly think the goose would jump up and announce, “Hey! This guy’s an Ever! Get him out of here!” even though everybody was already thinking it, if the glares he had been given the entire day were indicative of anything significant. But maybe the goose’s opinion would mean something.

He didn’t want to jinx it. But he couldn’t help  _ hoping _ . 

**I can give you what you want** **_,_ ** the goose promised him.  **I can make them see. You’re a prince. One good egg and they’ll put you where you belong. With your castle and your servants and your princess and your** **_prince_ ** **.**

Roman’s face swept into Dolos’ memory like a gust of rose petals, and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. He didn’t feel like  _ that _ about Roman. He just… admired him. A lot. But nothing like  _ that _ .

No matter. 

Dolos practically fell on his knees.  **Please! I’d do anything you wanted. Just help me!**

The bird smiled that wide, near-ominous grin.  **Close your eyes and make a wish** .

Dolos closed his eyes, and Roman somehow made it even further in his mind, leisurely sitting down and smiling, welcoming him home. He wished for him, and the School for Good, and closets of clothes, and a palace of his own, and servants for every occasion, and a kingdom next to his for Roman, and everything that he’d ever wanted, ever…

Had Virgil told him they were friends? Dolos hoped not. His reputation would sink even further if he had. 

Gasps flew around him, and Dolos’ eyes shot open, darting first to Joan with the expectation of a dropped jaw, apologies, and wondrous exclamations of “Wow, I guess you really  _ are _ a prince who definitely belongs at the School for Good, and we never should have glared at you!” and, “We should get the teachers on this, because Logan and I are such cretinous morons we can’t do it by ourselves!”

He did get a dropped jaw. But then he turned back to the goose and--and couldn’t help the  _ scream _ that tore out of his throat.

Gleaming feathers falling, turning black, warm eyes dying out and fading and drying to a cold, cold, cold gray, warm smile drooping and twisting and curdling into a  _ snarl _ .

“What  _ happened _ ?” Dolos heard Joan whisper.

“It’s the most evil thing I’ve ever seen…” Lycastus hissed, almost to himself. 

“What does it mean!” Dolos demanded, his heart clawing its way into his throat, pumping erratically, his blood curdling and leaping in his veins, his breath heaving in his lungs, panic rising in his throat. He’d never felt like this before, this mind-consuming terror that  _ was this what Virgil was complaining about was this what he felt everyday everyday how did he deal with this every single day  _ wrapped around his brain and numbed it.

“It would rather give up its power than help you,” Lycastus muttered, his red eyes wide with-- _ fear _ .

The goose squawked.

A “1” burst into flames above Dolos’ head.

“Grand witch!” Beedle squawked, looking elated.

“No!” Dolos protested, trying to smack away the number and burning his hands. The pain seared into his mind and carved the words into his brain. “Not grand witch!” That was Virgil, that was Virgil, he wasn’t evil, he wasn’t evil he wasn’t evil he wasn’t evil  _ hewasn’tevilhewasn’tevilhewasn’thewasn’thewasn’t  _ **_NO_ ** _! _

“Grand high witch ultimate!” Beedle cackled. Dolos glared.

He ran up to the goose and grabbed its wings and bent down to stare it in the eyes. “What did you do! What happened!”

But the goose just made a normal goose sound. It honked and flapped its wings out of Dolos’ hands and looked back up at him like it had never seen him before. 

Joan had to drag him away.

Dolos suffered through Uglification after that. And while he’d been dreading it as the worst of his classes, after the freezing classroom of Remy’s and the… Incident in Henchman Training, he honestly thought it was rather tame. Prof. Odous Han instructed them on how to give their face shingles. Dolos had done it without (with barely any) complaint, ignoring his stinging, blistering hands. 

Logan worked wordlessly beside him, although Dolos could almost hear the questions and theories and bewilderment in the blue-scarved boy’s head. 

But Dolos didn’t care, because  _ lunch _ was coming.  _ Lunch _ . The period after this, he could stretch out on that green grassy field he’d seen out the windows and see  _ Roman _ . And  _ Virgil _ . They knew he wasn't Evil. They saw that he wasn't Evil, and they could help. Roman would know. Roman would be able to see it. Roman would help.

It took too long to get there, but Dolos managed to get through the hour of repetitive “ugly is good because ugly is us” that Odous droned into them and collected his bar of some sort of golden waxy dripping thing that, when unceremoniously shoved in his mouth, reversed the ugly red rash that had shimmied up his skin. 

He got a bland “10” that drifted above his head before wandering off to avoid the annoyance of Gert’s wobbly “9,” but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t the “grand witch.” He was succeeding because he was smart. He was fitting in. He was _hiding,_ and he was doing a good job of it. It didn't mean anything. He was Good.

There were whispers of “class captain” that surrounded him. He didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t care to find out.

_ Lunch _ , his heart sang as he journeyed down the stairs.  _ Lunch!  _

He scampered down the vine-covered tunnel, bursting into the light, and barely even noticed anything around him. Not the blatant difference between the Good and Evil sides of the clearing. Not even how he was being shoved into a line by Joan.

Because all he could see was that Roman wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here's chapter 7! We're more or less on a weekly updating schedule now, so look forward to that (but don't rely too much on it, I might accidentally think one chapter is another again). Remy is still hard to write (Vaye has been annoyed about that for ages), but the rest of the chapter is fine. Dolos is starting to get defensive about his totally-not-a-crush on Roman and is doing alarmingly well at being evil, so that’ll be interesting later. Uhm. Hope you all enjoyed~!  
> \--Caellie


	8. On the First Day of Classes, My Issues Gave to Me--Unwanted Anxiety! (To the Tune of the Twelve Days of Christmas)

Their schedules hadn’t exactly had times on them, which caused Virgil no small amount of worry, especially since he discovered that there were very few clocks to be found around the school. Patton assured him he wouldn't be late. Terrence grumbled that he wouldn't be late. Virgil still worried he'd be late.

So, he couldn’t fall asleep the night before the first day, even though he should’ve been used to that by now. He thought it’d be fine. Normally, he stayed up walking through Gavaldon at midnight and slipping the books he’d rebound on the front steps of houses, sitting at the pond, losing himself in his thoughts. He usually fell asleep at two in the morning. He _should’ve_ been used to staying awake and then getting up early. He rose with the sun to help Adrestia with her supplies as well as escort her down the hill every day. He should’ve been used to it.

He wasn’t used to it.

When the fairies shook him awake before the sun’s morning rays, biting him on the ear, he realized he wasn’t used to it at all. He’d fallen asleep around the same time he would have at Gavaldon, but his sleep had been restless, filled with panicked dreams he no longer retained any memory of. Patton and Terrence complained about the lack of breakfast, but Virgil had no appetite.

Apparently, there was a big difference between staying awake by choice and being kept awake by thoughts frantically bouncing in his head.

Virgil found himself sitting in a wooden chair in a loose, white shirt and blue pants, both made out of a cool, airy material, and soft boots with a better grip than the shined leather he’d worn the day before, with Terrence on one side and Leo (the tall, _tall_ one) on the other. The bags under his eyes were bigger, he could feel it. The lack of sleep surely showed on his face and in his demeanor. What was happening? The air felt humid and uncomfortable on his skin. 

Swordplay and Weaponry was the first class of the day, and Virgil was already terrified. 

“Where’s the teacher?” Terrence hissed into his ear. Virgil didn’t know. There was a desk before him, set on the dewy grass like it naturally blended into the scenery, but with nobody behind it. He didn’t have his coat on hand to shrink into, so he shrugged and hoped that was answer enough. Roman was a few seats away, looking as handsome and regal as ever, toying with the laces of his shirt in a way that definitely did _not_ make him look even better. Virgil pointedly didn’t look at him.

He’d never been in a classroom before. _He’d never been in a classroom before_ . What was it like? Were the people nice? Would he fit in? Oh no. What if he was called on and he was unprepared? Everybody already thought he was a witch (he knew, he could see their faces in the dawn light, spot their stares, witness their incredulousness and horror and _anger_ at his mere presence, a dark orb among all the bright lights), this would just prove them right. What was it like, being in a real classroom? What would he learn? What was he supposed to do? He had none of the answers.

It made him feel vulnerable.

The grass tickled his legs through the light material (what _was_ it?) of his pants. He rubbed the sweat on his hands away as he wrapped his arms loosely around his midsection and hunched over, hoping that it looked like a casual leaning into his knees and not anything that stood out of the ordinary. 

He felt like he was going to throw up.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. Virgil glanced towards the gray sky, speckled with drooping clouds, and tried to remember that this was the same sky he’d seen in Gavaldon. With the same comfort that came with it. He didn’t feel comforted. 

He felt more uneasy than ever. 

The sun would rise any moment now. And with it would come the sneers, scowls, judgmental eyebrows, and _scrutiny_ of Day. Virgil had never been able to hold up under such microscopic investigation. If somebody looked a bit deeper behind his facade, they’d see just how terrified, how frightened, how _weak_ he was. How _disgusting_ he was. Everything that Dolos had worked so hard with him to mask, to hide. All these came to light with Day, and that was why Virgil much preferred Night. Night was safety. Night was security. Night was comfort.

Night was leaving.

Somebody ( _Terrence_ , his thoughts supplied) nudged him, and Virgil jumped, slightly, looking up to see a figure walking towards them across the grass like an ethereal deity, hobbling but graceful, leaning on what looked like a cane.

Their teacher. 

Virgil had imagined a young drill instructor after seeing the name “Samir Luphel” on his schedule, but it turned out he was incorrect. 

Samir Luphel still walked upright even though he was old, his back straight, his head high despite the wrinkles on his face and his colorless hair. He reminded Virgil of his history teacher, September Aldin. But… different. September Aldin was warm, open, but closed off as well. Somebody who’d get you to spill your secrets and give none of his own in return, only cryptic advice and sly manipulations from behind the scenes. Samir Luphel would let you keep your secrets, including your pride and dignity, instead being upfront about his suggestions. Honest and blunt.

Virgil… he was still suspicious. But hopeful. Because his harsh drill sergeant image who’d beat him into the ground and tell him to get back up again like Virgil had chosen to be pummeled, chosen to be here, was incorrect. Samir Luphel didn’t look… _harsh,_ though. He looked strict. Firm. A laughing twinkle in his eyes. 

Virgil still shrank back. Looks could be deceiving. 

Samir came to a stop in front of their haphazard circle of chairs, a languid smile stretched across his face. He held a plain wooden cane in hands that were currently crossed behind his back as he waited for the aforementioned stragglers to find chairs and mumble out half-hearted apologies.

“Welcome, students!” he said cheerily. “This is Swordplay and Weapons Training. I am Samir Luphel, the weapons instructor, and in this class we will go over the basics of combat for those new to it as well as the finer details of battle for those more experienced. I will be giving individual training for those who need it--and that is _not_ to say that it is because they are behind. It would be because I feel best they warrant one-on-one instruction. Nothing more, nothing less. Got it?”

Virgil’s first impression seemed to have held up. Strict, but kind. Tough, but fair. He hoped he wouldn’t be proven wrong. He couldn’t rely on hopes. The sun was beginning to peek out from behind the edge of the Blue Woods. 

“Now, first off, let me make something clear. A sword, or any kind of weapon for that matter, is not a toy. It is a tool, and it is a privilege.” Samir reached behind the desk and pulled out a wooden practice sword, little more than a tough wooden dowel with a crossguard and leather binding on the end. He also grabbed an actual sword, with cloth tightly wrapped around the blade. “Misuse it, and there will be grave consequences. Our swords will be used to protect. Not to harm.”

He spun the real sword in his hand before propping it against his desk. “This first class will be mainly theory before I split you into groups based on your performance at the Welcoming. Then, we’ll run through some basic drills, if we have time. Okay?”

Virgil tried his best to pay attention (so _that_ was why they had fought at the Welcoming). And he did! He kept everything locked away in his brain, even when he felt like all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, because he had to _remember_ to survive. But he felt… lost. No, not lost. Overwhelmed. Because he had to remember _all of this_ , he _couldn’t remember all of this_ , he was holding grains of sand that trickled through his hands the harder he tried to hold it and--

“We’ll go through basic swordplay first. Now,” Samir was saying (and Virgil hadn’t missed much in his panic, he hadn’t missed anything at all, he should calm down, it was fine, he was fine), a cheeky grin on his face. “This is the sharp end. Point it _away_ from yourself.”

The students around him chuckled, and so Virgil did, too.

“Once you get used to the blade, it should act as an extension to your body. It’ll feel more natural as you continue along. Speaking of which, swordplay, as well as any weapons training, is a team sport. Do you know why? It’s because,” he continued, not pausing to wait for any raised hands, “every part of your body works _together_ to achieve your goal. And, before I go any further, I would like to add that your _brain_ is a part of your body. Instinct is great. Strength is great, too. But eventually you’ll run into a problem you can’t hack your way through, and then you’ll be stuck. Think things through. A lot of the students I’ve taught have the notion that sheer brawn will be enough to get them through life.” He cast a stern look across at the class. “This is a lie.”

That… seemed more Virgil’s style. As Samir quickly passed through some basic principles that Virgil tried to commit to memory, he felt himself daring to relax. It made… sense. It made sense, and that was what surprised Virgil the most about all of this. “Don’t cut them in half, because you can slice their neck, and they’ll still be dead,” Samir would say. “Or, if you want to have a little thing called _honor_ , you could just cut off one of their legs. It’d work just as well.” And Virgil would understand it. Samir would say, “most swordplay tactics involve a slight form of deception. Look as if you’re attacking towards their legs, then, when they move to intercept you, sweep upwards to their chest. It's called acting.” Virgil could visualise it, and he _saw_ how it would work. 

He understood. Even though he knew that shouldn’t be something to be so relieved about, he still felt like grinning widely, because he hadn’t expected to understand. To be good at a skill, so... _Good_. He wasn’t athletic, nor did he consider himself to be very fit. But this wasn’t athletics, as he knew now. This was… strategy. He knew strategy—or, at least, he thought he did. He would be… no, not good at this. But reasonable, maybe. He could hope for reasonable. Decent.

Maybe Dolos would be proud of him.

Maybe he could be proud of himself.

Samir went over basic sword facts (taking care of it, polishing and sharpening) and rules (there was a very detailed honor code that instantly made Virgil stressed), and then split them into groups.

“Beginners,” was one, and “Advanced” was the other. 

Virgil didn’t want to be either. He didn’t want to show off how horrible he was. He didn’t want to disappoint Samir either, even though he already seemed like a hard person to let down. But Virgil just _knew_ that somehow he’d manage to do it. He’d always had, and he’d probably always will; after all, it was only because of Dolos’ interference that he had even made it this far. He’d be the first to make Samir snap. If he was good at anything, it’d be being bad at everything.

Terrence was instantly put into the “Beginners” group, along with a few other boys who Virgil remembered had all come from poor backgrounds. They didn’t look too torn up about it. 

Roman, Leo, and a couple of other students (who had all sported various coats of arms, Virgil remembered, so obviously all nobility) were nearly as quickly booted to “Advanced,” where Samir promptly had them running through complex-looking drills with actual swords. 

The selections started to slow. Samir picked two more boys for the Advanced Group. One more for Beginners. It was down to three now. Him, Dominic, and Henry. Henry went off to the Beginners, and Dominic was sent to the Advanced. Virgil found himself all alone once more.

Had Samir forgotten him? He couldn’t decide if he preferred that or not. 

The Beginners lined up to one side, clumsily practicing basic technique against imaginary opponents. The Advanced were on the other side of the desk, steadily working through complex-looking drills on each other. Virgil watched as Leo overstepped and Roman lightly tapped him on the shoulder with his wrapped blade, laughing. They seemed so at ease and comfortable and--skilled. Even the Beginners were talking amongst themselves as they worked, making fun of their lack of talent like they’d always been friends.

It must’ve been nice.

“So, you must be Virgil.”

Virgil jumped in his skin. The hand on his shoulder tightened reassuringly and turned him around. Samir smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Y-you—“ Virgil swallowed down his panic. It scraped the walls of his throat and settled restlessly in his stomach. “You have?”

Samir shrugged one shoulder and made an unconcerned gesture. “All good things of course. The problem is, though, I don’t know where to place you.” 

Virgil stilled, but not because he was in any way calm. “I’m sorry!”

Samir looked at him curiously. “No need to be _sorry_ , young man. No, I just need to get a better feel for your ability. See, you’re a Reader, and generally Readers have no learned swordplay, but you didn’t actually _fight_ during the welcoming _._ However, you proved to be extremely agile and have a good head on your shoulders with the tactic you used.”

Virgil had to pause in order to ingest this information, and before he registered what he was doing, the words, “But I ran away” had emerged from his mouth. He froze.

Samir only shrugged. “So? That’s always a valid option. Back away and regroup, rest, recover, and return. Roman is stronger than you, but not as fast. Therefore, it was a perfectly logical idea for you to attempt to outrun him. You’re probably faster than most of the people here, now that I think about it. Surrendering… we’ll work on that, but running away was fine.”

Samir was wrong. Virgil had tricked him somehow--yes, that was it. Samir hadn’t seen him act so cowardly- he hadn’t heard Virgil’s snarky taunts and fear. Samir thought he was smart? And agile? He was wrong. If Dolos were here, he’d sigh, shake his head, say that, while Virgil had great potential, Samir must be mistaken, because Virgil was average _._ No, _below_ average. He was cowardly, weak, and--well, maybe not dumb, but certainly not clever. He knew that as a fact. He didn’t have any evidence otherwise. Any _valid_ evidence otherwise. Any evidence from a source he hadn’t tricked. Or deceived.

Either way, Samir looked like he wanted a response, so Virgil hesitantly said, “So… where are you going to put me?” and tried to act like it hadn’t taken all of his courage.

Samir tilted his head. “Well, I was thinking of asking if you were at all free after school on… hmm, let’s try Thursdays. I would like to do some individual training with you, if you’d like.”

And wasn’t _that_ terrifying. Being one-on-one with somebody whose literal job was to judge him? No, nope, no thank you, goodbye. “Sure,” was what he had said instead. Damn it. All of it, and everyone, and the world who hated him so much.

“Wonderful!” Samir clapped his hands, and the Advanced and Beginners both paused and turned to look at him ( _them_ ) curiously. “Let’s pack it up! No grades yet, but great job, all of you, and I’ll see you tomorrow for some more theory! Take a power bar as you leave--it’s important to keep your energy up! As for you,” he said, turning now back to Virgil. “I’ll just slide you in with the Beginners for now, teach you the basics. Although I think you’re ready for the Advanced group, technically. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds great?”

Samir gave him a peculiar little smile while handing him a power bar, and Virgil stumbled back to the castle for Chivalry and Grooming.

Ethann Niel taught Chivalry and Grooming and seemed to hate Virgil inherently. He walked into the classroom and slammed a book on his desk and took in his classroom with a wide smile that he gave out freely to everyone but Virgil, who got a suspicious, frozen look instead. He had a bouncing, boyish, infective energy that got his students intrigued. All his students- except Virgil. Was Virgil even one of his students? Ethann seemed to go out of his way to exclude him from the group.

Anyway, Virgil wasn’t a prince, so this kind of behavior was to be expected. 

They went over the curriculum (which Virgil tried his very best to pay attention to but failed spectacularly because he could _feel_ Leo and Terrence’s stares as they wondered why he hadn’t been put in a group, he could _hear_ them whispering about how he probably had failed everything and was going to be kicked out and was lying to the teachers and-and-and-) and jumped right into the basics of formal titles afterward.

Virgil never raised his hand. 

Virgil was called on anyway. 

“You! The one with the… horrible scowl and… gross hair.” Laughter. From behind him. In front of him. Everywhere. “How would you address a count or countess?”

Virgil panicked. He knew the answer. Your Excellency. Or was it Your Grace? No, it was Your Excellency, because Your Grace was meant for a duke or duchess. Your Excellency. It was Your Excellency. _How are you doing, Your Excellency? A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency._ He opened his mouth to say just that, but he faltered because everyone was looking at him and Ethann was frowning and Leo was smirking and Roman was in the seat next to him and he looked bored and amused why was he amused what had he done to make him amused and he paused, thinking _it was Your Excellency it was Your Excellency say Your Excellency say it and_ remembered with a flash that the answer wasn’t Your Grace, _DON’T SAY YOUR GRACE DON’T SAY IT DON’T SAY IT DON’T SAY YOUR GRACE DON’T DON’T DON’T-_

“Your Grace?”

Virgil wanted to cover his mouth and shove the words back in after he said them. 

“No!” Ethann crowed the word like it was a joke, swinging his arms up into the air and stomping about. Virgil didn’t laugh. Everyone else did. “No, it’s _Your Excellency_. I just went over this! Man, I mean, I knew you weren’t royalty but I didn’t expect you to be this behind. Wow.”

Snickers. Chortles. _Chuckles_ . More of them, coming from everywhere around him. Virgil felt his face light on fire, the red spreading from his cheeks down to his neck and up to his nose and forehead and _face_ , and he shrank back into his coat and Ethann leered at him and he wanted to _run get out go escape run fast run far flee escape get out and run and run and run run run run run run--_

He stayed in his chair until the end of class.

“Uhhhh… Virgil!”

Virgil turned around, dread pooling at his feet, halfway out the door. Ethann stared at him expectantly, leaning against the side of his desk, one hand flipping through the class roll book. He tapped a finger against one of the pages. “Virgil… Virgil. Veerr-jill. That you?”

Virgil nodded jerkily, and Ethann laughed, tossing the roll book shut. “Sounds like your kind of name. Has the same sort of, ‘I don’t belong here,’ vibe. You know? Hey, hey, it’s fine,” he added, evidently noting Virgil’s panicked look. “This is my first class here, you know? I’m scared, too. Actually, it’s my quest. You know--assigned internships? I actually graduated last year! You know my brother, right? Patton?”

How was _Patton_ related to… this? Patton, who’d been so kind and warm and welcoming to Virgil and this… person, who was... not.

Virgil jerked his head up and down again because, yes, he knew Patton. 

Ethann laughed. “Cool! I knew he’d get picked. He has that sort of face, y’know? He got all of the ‘cute’ looks. I got the handsome ones.” He winked, and Virgil tried not to squint. Patton did have a cute face, sort of. Like a little kid- and the glasses didn’t help anything, although Virgil thought it suited him. His bubbly and energetic energy helped with that too. Ethann looked much more like the other students here--all dashing and charming--but arrogant. Patton was earnest. Ethann was… just a jerk. An attractive, but arrogant, jerk. Just like most of the other princes here. 

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I’m on your side, man.” Ethann smiled, full of teeth and heroic persistence. Virgil gulped down all of the anxiety swirling through his head.

“You--you are?”

“Yeah. I can tell that you’re nervous.” Ethann seemed relaxed, but his eyes were narrowed (cold, _calculating_ ). “It’s all fine, man! Though, I will say this.” He pushed off his desk and stepped forward, causing Virgil to step back because, suddenly, all of Ethann’s fake relaxedness disappeared. The tension underneath showed through, clear as day, having hidden underneath happy smiles and enthusiasm. Virgil should run. _Now_. “I know what you’re doing,” he said fiercely. “You don’t belong here. You think I can’t see past your wretched disguise but, buddy, I can see right through you. I know what you are.”

“You do?”

Ethann moved his head in what looked like it was supposed to be a nod but seemed much more hostile than that. Virgil tried not to flinch. “You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A _villain_ in a blue coat and a white swan. I don’t know how you got in here, or why you’re still here, but I will find out, and I will make sure you’re put where you belong. I have my eye on you, _witch_.”

Virgil… didn’t know what was happening. What to say. What to do. He… wasn’t a witch. He opened his mouth to say that in a rare act of defiance (it was what Dolos would do, and Dolos was always right, and so this would be right), but then Ethann said, “and if you hurt _one hair_ on Patton’s head, I will _end you_. Got that?”

And all of the anger simmered out of him. 

This was… this had no maliciousness behind it. It was just an older brother being protective. Virgil understood. He didn’t want to see Patton hurt either. But without his anger, all that was left of him was a cold shell. So he nodded (a lot of nodding going on today), and replied, firmly, “I got that.”

He turned on his heel and left the classroom. He left Ethann, he left the other boys still in there, he left the “20” that tried to follow him out.

If there was one thing he could understand, it was protecting his friends. He wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

Especially when Ethann turned out to be right.  
  


He didn’t tell Patton about any of this. He didn’t have the time, really, in-between classes, too focused on getting to the Everboy Groom-Room, and then, once he’d arrived, sneaking past the hoards of girls who’d gathered to gawk at them (and scowl at him). 

Physical Education was as horrible as he’d thought it’d be, maybe even worse. Chordata the Turtle had put them each through a set of drills, alternating around the room, going from weights to sprints to push-ups to some form of weird ballet-yoga thing in order to “make your limbs happy and your joints loose!” Chordata had a timer, somehow, and would blow a whistle every five minutes, which would be the cue to rotate to the next station. Nymphs stood at each one with clipboards and thoughtfully emotionless looks, jotting down evaluations of them. 

There was a swimming portion, too. Thank whatever deity was watching that he knew how to swim. Barely. Adrestia had insisted he learn, but not that he be good at it.

He swore that the Nymph on that station laughed at him when he emerged, sopping, from the depths of the pool that somehow smelled like pinewood and smoke. 

His muscles had burned before, but now they were just numb. He couldn’t feel them anymore, only knew that they shook. He couldn’t think, his mind filled with tired fuzz, and his emotions had been reduced to resigned pain. All he knew were the next sets and the slow, steady ache in his limbs. He couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t leave. Chordata was watching over all of this, and Chordata wouldn’t let that happen. Worse, he’d be thought of as a coward. He already had such a horrible reputation. His arms trembled as he raised himself to the bar again and tried to tap his chin against the metal.

Chordata blew his whistle (he was growing to loathe that whistle with every fiber of his being), and Virgil moved on with the gaggle of other boys around him from pull-ups to a barrage of exercises with seemingly random and exceedingly complex names, such as “lazy wall-crawler knee pushes” and “rabid meerkat arm weights.”

Through the fog in his head, Virgil heard a loud _crunch_.

Somebody screamed.

Virgil dropped down from doing an “upside-down tamarin,” landing on his shoulder, hard, and scraping his hand on a mat, popping a blister on his ring finger. He let out a yelp, almost against his will, unsure which of his limbs to cradle. He blinked, trying to get rid of the spots dancing before his eyes, and looked around, hoping that he was allowed to.

Roman had screamed. Roman had screamed? Why had Roman screamed? Virgil thought about standing up for a better view, but the momentum he’d held while exercising and moving had been lost, and he couldn’t get his legs to move.

He still saw a purple-haired nymph whisk Roman away, though, and he craned his head to figure out why. Chordata looked pale. 

“And that,” he said, “is why spotters are necessary for the underdog upper-arm bicep crunches.” 

“This is all my fault,” somebody said quietly, and Virgil (along with literally everybody else), turned to look. Standing next to a stack of weights, holding one in his hand, was Edward, one of the people in the Advanced group, looking very, very scared now that everyone was staring at him. He gulped, shuffled his feet, and stared insistently down at the mats. “I dropped a dumbbell on his leg.”

Oh.

Oh _no._

“How heavy was it?” Chordata asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Edward mumbled his answer. Virgil couldn’t make it out, but Chordata evidently could, shrieking, “thirty five?!” 

Hadn’t Chordata told them to stick with below twenty? Virgil paled, imagining thirty-five pounds of steel crashing onto his leg, imagining the pain that would cause. The students around him seemed to realize the same thing and turned to say as such to the people around them. 

Chordata seethed, “and who was using it?” 

“I was. He was spotting.” Edward didn’t say Roman’s name. Did he know it? Or was he ashamed? Virgil couldn’t tell. 

Chordata scowled. 

Virgil took a step back, his legs cooperating for this. He knew that look. Dolos had it every once and a while. When the children kept feeding bread to the ducks. Or when the merchants forgot his soy milk or gluten-free flour. Or when Virgil brought the wrong ingredients for some face cream even after being given specific instructions. _That_ look. Chordata was _angry_. No, beyond angry. Exasperated and indignant and frustrated and bitter and somehow, even with all of those elements, still just--mad. Virgil almost felt sorry for Edward. 

A bronze “20” appeared over Edward’s head and crashed down, knocking him to the ground. He groaned and pushed it off himself, staring in shock. Virgil recoiled. Winced. Broken ribs, maybe. A big bruise, definitely. He remembered Roman’s screams. It didn’t stop him from feeling sorry. 

“That’s what you _get_ ,” Chordata fumed. “For being _stupid_. Class dismissed.”

More scores dropped down onto their heads. Virgil got a “16,” surprisingly. He hadn’t expected not to be last. Nobody had a “1.” Virgil bet that it went to Roman.

He already had one “20.” Now, a “16.” He had two more chances.

If he used them up…

 _“Failure, failure, failure,”_ his mind whispered.

The day proceeded as usual. Was that normal? Would he be the next one with a “20” shaped bruise on his ribs and shame on his face? He jumped at his own shadow on his way out.

Lunch was next. Lunch was next? Lunch was next! When Virgil would be able to see Dolos again, and maybe, by that time, Dolos would have made remarkable plan to get him out of here and they could swan off back to Gavaldon.

He really just wanted to see his friend.

Patton grabbed him as soon as possible and grinned. “So! How were your first classes?”

Virgil seesawed his hand. “Okay.” Okay. He was okay. They were okay.

It was all okay.

They turned a corner, being buffeted by the stream of people, and pushed through a large set of doors. Virgil stepped onto the dirt and looked around. Oh, yes, this was the same leaf-y tunnel that they’d traveled to the castle with. Only the girls were marveling at it. Right. Patton tightened his hold on Virgil’s arm and tugged him out of the way of two Everboys who had paused in the middle of the ramp.

“Mine were fun,” Patton volunteered. “My brother taught my first class--did you know? He was very interested to learn I was dorming with you. I think he likes you!”

“Oh, really?” That wasn’t the impression Virgil had gotten.

“Yeah! He was asking tons of questions! He’s really nice! You’ve had a class with him already, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool! And he’s nice right?”

“Yeah… nice.”

“He was super excited to see me even though he knew I’d been accepted here, which is cool of him because Gavin’s older brother was kind of ‘meh’ about it, which isn’t too nice, although Gavin’s like, the fifth sibling in his family to come here so--” and Virgil tuned him out. It was rude, and something he wouldn’t dare do to Dolos, but that was the thing, wasn’t it? _Dolos_. Dolos was going to be there. 

Dolos would make everything better.

They emerged from the leafy, dark tunnel into bright green fields. 

“And, I mean, he’s probably going to become Class Captain--”

“Class what?”

Patton blinked innocently at him and jutted his hand towards the leafy wall, where a cluster of students were already gathering to chatter about the markings on it. “Class Captain. The person with the highest score in Good or Evil. Roman’s probably going to be Class Captain soon.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes, feeling dread build in his stomach. What was his score? Did he dare know? He peeled off from the group, Patton following him curiously as he approached the wooden board.

  1. _Prince Roman of Camelot_
  2. _Delilah of Pifflepaff Hills_
  3. _Leo of Nottingham_



Patton let out a squeal. “Ooh! I’m twentieth!”

Virgil didn’t hear him, not really. He was staring at the bottom of the board, his name chiseled in the dirt.

  1. _Virgil of Woods Beyond_



Patton clapped his hands in delight and pulled them away, seemingly not having noticed Virgil’s score, and back into the sunlight, where nymphs were handing out picturesque picnic baskets. 

Virgil had to leave. _Failure, failure._

He had to talk to Dolos.

Dolos was nowhere in sight, not yet. Roman wasn’t there either, probably still getting his leg fixed. Leo held court by a huge oak tree in his absence, Delilah and her group all matched up with a boy from his, tittering. The sun shined in Virgil’s eyes as he watched. Delilah saw him and scowled, turning immediately to converse ( _gossip_ ) with her friend.

School politics. Virgil would have to be wary of them. 

Had they seen his name on the board?

He grabbed his basket and, along with Patton, sat down against a tree. Terrence waved but didn’t pause, choosing instead to run after a group of Everboys who Virgil could recall as once having been led by Edward (they’d sat together at the Welcoming). Now, it was led by Dominic, who made a beckoning gesture towards Patton. Patton’s smile faltered. He glanced at Virgil.

“Go ahead and join them,” Virgil said. He wouldn’t make Patton stay here.

“Why?”

“You do want to, right?”

Patton looked down at his basket. “Well--no.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m not leaving you alone on your first day!” More fiery than Virgil had expected, Patton’s gaze had whipped up to meet Virgil’s and he almost reconsidered. 

He didn’t in the end though. “I’ll be fine.”

Patton considered, looked him over, stared him straight in the eye and frowned. Virgil didn’t allow himself to hope. Eventually, Patton grabbed his bag and left, calling after Terrence. He looked happier. Was he happier? 

Virgil sighed, feeling the slightest bit regretful. But, no matter. Patton was happy. 

He looked around for Dolos. The Clearing split cleanly in half: the Good side, with bright green grass and luscious, flowing trees, and the Evil side, with rotting, gnarled branches strewn on the ground and stumps cascading over the dried, hard dirt. Nevers stomped by with pails full of gruel. Virgil didn’t see Dolos anywhere.

His stomach rumbled.

He pulled back the cloth on his basket and gasped. A pile of smoked trout sandwiches, a salad made of some sort of lettuce, a pink souffle, and a vial of sparkling liquid that looked like lemonade. The smell reached his nose and he almost died. He hadn’t eaten since the power bars handed to them in Swordplay and Weaponry. His stomach growled.

The sandwich was whisked out of his hands before he could take a bite.

“Oh, thank _Good_ ness there’s some actual food here.” A bucket thumped down on the ground beside Virgil, and then, next to it, Dolos, clad in the black sack of the Nevers, looking irked. “Where’s Roman?”

Virgil snagged another sandwich and tried to talk through a mouthful of food. Dolos looked at him disapprovingly, so Virgil swallowed and tried again. “Edward dropped a dumbbell on his leg. He’s getting it healed somewhere, I think. Why?”

Dolos badly masked his disappointment. “No reason.”

People were looking at them. People were _looking at them_ and Dolos wasn’t doing anything about it and nobody was looking away and Virgil didn’t know how to make them _stop_ and—“Dolos, your _hands.”_

Dolos started, like he’d forgotten, and held them out. “My rank was on fire. I didn’t like it.”

His palms were red and bubbled in angry white blisters. Dried, brown blood stuck to the cracks and crevices in his hands, caking around the raw skin. Virgil hesitantly prodded some of the swollen areas around the burn before Dolos jerked his hand back. 

“Sorry,” Virgil mumbled, reaching into his basket and fishing out a crisp white napkin. He tore it in half. “What—ah, what rank was it?”

Dolos looked at him, thoughtfully, as Virgil gently wrapped the napkin around his hands. “...five.”

Five? That was… really good. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing quite yet. For now, it was probably best to not upset Dolos further, especially with the wounds he had on his hands. Virgil tucked the ends of the bandages in and scooted back before Dolos could tell him to, smiling happily at Dolos’ proud look. “Good job.”

“Virgil!”

Virgil jerked up, swiveling around—Talyn, running towards him and _stopping suddenly, their eyes caught on Dolos,_ their smile now strained. “Who’s this?”

Virgil swallowed, nervous for some reason, guilty for some reason. Why did he feel so ashamed to have friends? “Talyn, this is Dolos. Dolos… Talyn.”

Dolos stared at them with more hostility than Virgil had expected. “Pleasure.”

“Hi,” Talyn said shortly, before abruptly switching their attention back to Virgil with a bright (now forced, fake) grin. “How were your first classes?”

His opinion must have shown on his face, because Talyn laughed. “ _Same._ Parhasius is the _worst_ Etiquette coach ever! We had to balance nightingale eggs on our heads. And he was stumbling around on goat legs because Lycastus had the body. Hypocrite.” They moved to sit down, and Virgil could _feel_ his spirits being lifted, but Dolos put his bandaged hand protectively over Virgil’s, sent Talyn a cold look, and said, “Actually, we were in the middle of a conversation, could you…?”

Talyn hesitated, a strange look on their face, before leaving with a confused, “Okay, I’ll... talk to you later?”

Virgil paused. Turned to Dolos. Asked, “what was that all about?” with more courage and defiance than he felt at the moment. What _was_ that? Talyn was Virgil’s _friend_ , and he didn’t get many of those, and he had _no right_ to--

“She felt weird,” Dolos said, with eyes that seemed so concerned. So concerned. Protective. “Too nice. Like she was--and I’m not making any assumptions here, you might know something I don’t--but she barely knows you. It was like she was trying to get close to you. I know girls like her. One of those power users. Manipulators. They get close to you, and you tell them all sorts of stuff, _secrets_ , and then they stab you in the back and--I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

What was left of Virgil’s defiance shriveled. He should’ve known. Dolos was merely looking out for him. He wouldn’t purposely drive away Virgil’s friends without a good reason. Virgil knew that, he’d jumped to conclusions--Dolos knew more than he did, more about people and such, he’d forgotten that. He looked back, saw Talyn glancing at him, and turned away with an, “Oh. Okay.”

His sandwich didn’t taste as good anymore. 

Dolos’ hand was still over his own, and he shifted away. Dolos looked around, narrowed his eyes, and declared, “we should go home.” 

Virgil’s heart quickened. “Home?”

“Yeah, home,” Dolos repeated, giving their surroundings a distrustful look. “This place--where we are--it isn’t for us. We should at least switch castles.” 

Virgil knew he’d come around eventually. Home was safe, secure, not this dangerous place full of new people, and he’d miss Patton and Talyn, but _home_ . Where he’d always wanted to be. With Dolos, at home, walking through Gavaldon at night as he distributed rebound storybooks and sitting under the moonlight at the pond. _Home_. 

“Thank you,” Virgil said, and Dolos gave him a determined smile, all fierce eyebrows and proud eyes. Virgil smiled hesitantly.

“We leave tonight for the School Master’s office,” he declared. “He probably knows the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Another chapter, done! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dolos isn’t exactly welcoming to Virgil’s friends. I won’t tell you why exactly because, to quote our favorite Doctor Song, ah, “Spoilers!” and that’ll probably come into play in the third and second books, if we ever get that far. But I will tell you there’s a reason! A character-development-y reason.  
> Aside from that, well, Ethann. He exists now! Not sure how he managed to worm his way in, I just started writing that scene and Ethann was declaring he was Patton’s brother. I had a very interesting conversation with Caellie about that--essentially just screaming about “how do you ACCIDENTALLY write Patton a brother?”//”I don't know he just appeared!”/”Well what do we do about him??”//”How should I know!”/”What do you mean ‘how should I know’ you wrote him!” and so on--but I have a plan for him, so he should come in handy. Originally he was going to be more like Pollux… but now I’m thinking of a different character. I’ll talk with Caellie about it, but it could be cool.  
> Anyway!  
> Quests! So, I mentioned quests a bit, but I figured I should explain more. There are four years of SGE, and once you’ve made it to your last year you’re sent off into the world for a quest. These are mainly featured in the second arcs--for instance, Beatrix goes to save a grove from pirates somewhere and Tedros rules Camelot. This is also where Hero/Sidekick/Mogrif rankings come into play. If you’re on track to being a Mogrif, this is when you’d turn into an animal (Mogrifs are animal sidekicks). Ethann’s quest is being a teacher! So, it’s essentially a chance at getting a story.  
> Um. What else is interesting about this chapter? I modeled Virgil’s anxiety in the first part after my own the first time I went to a brick-and-mortar classroom since I’d been homeschooled the majority of my life and hadn’t gone to a physical class in over ten years. Dolos doesn’t use Talyn’s pronouns because he 1) doesn’t know and 2) probably wouldn’t even if he did because he’s like that Right Now (character development!!). The next chapter should be Interesting and we get to discuss talents, so that’ll be cool. I’m running out of things to say…  
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> \--Vaye


	9. What's That I Hear in the Distance? Is It Denial? Nope, Definitely Not, Dolos Isn't in Denial, Totally, Sure.

Dolos hated the idea of home. Where people thought he was silly, vain, self-absorbed, someone to idolize from afar and never get close to, someone to look up to but never know, someone to talk about but never  _ to _ . 

Where nobody understood him, where he stuck out in his brilliance, a swan among pigeons, a star among the darkness. 

He’d never go back.

But he was the same in the School for Evil, maybe even  _ worse _ , because here these people were crude, horrific,  _ evil _ , and they expected him to be the same, abhorring him when he wasn’t. He was used to being ignored, or admired, or idolized. He wasn’t used to being hated.

He wanted to be adored.

His plans were set in motion, though and, if he had his way, he’d never have to be in the School for Evil again.

For now, he had to get through his next classes. Meeba Meeks’ classroom was by far the tamest he’d encountered, more like an ordinary classroom than a pit of icy death or the very top of a belltower. It even smelled like an ordinary classroom, unlike how the Uglification classroom reeked of moldy feet and swamp slime, more chalk and pencil lead and notebooks. Dolos breathed in the scent of normalcy and tried to ignore how there were skulls decorating the walls.

Meeba Meeks barely covered the syllabus. Instead, she jumped straight into, “Evil is doing horribly and here’s why it’s all your fault,” with no break. 

Dolos tuned her out immediately.

She clapped her hands, the sound loud and sudden enough to jolt Dolos out of his thoughts. Logan gave him a meaningful look.  _ Pay attention _ . Joan laughed. 

“Right,” Meeks sneered. She seemed to be constantly sneering. Curling her upper lip and sneering. Dolos resisted the urge to sneer back. “Everyone, stand up and demonstrate your talent for your challenge today!” 

The class rose as one, shuffling to its feet and heaving itself out of the stupor that only a forty-five minute repetitive lecture could bring. 

“I meant  _ one at a time _ ,” Meeks bellowed. Sparks shot off her hands, and the class immediately sat down with a collective thump. “Strongest or most powerful ability gets the highest rank. Go.”

Dolos didn’t have a talent. He sat in his chair and watched. Gathering information.

The first five kids failed to produce anything, with Dusa complaining that she didn’t even know her talent and therefore was completely unable to use it, not knowing where to start. “Is that what you’ll tell the School Master at the Circus?” Meeks mocked. “‘Oh, I don’t  _ know _ my talent, oh, I don’t  _ have _ a talent, oh, I don’t  _ like _ my talent, oh, I wanna trade talents with the Ooty Queen!’”

Dolos made a face at the name. His gut twisted itself into little curlie cues, though, despite his distraction. How could he make it to the School Master’s tower? He saw it from outside their classroom windows, despite how narrow they were. Tall. Thin, but sturdy. Impenetrable. 

“Next!” Meeks thundered, swinging her arm dramatically and successfully stopping Dolos’ train of thoughts. 

The horrendous displays continued. Vix grew a stump next to his neck that he claimed was supposed to house a second head. Vooltur sprouted feathers. Gert sprung stubble on her cheeks. Arach clung to the wall (she fell off a few seconds later). Gona choked on smoke. And, just when Meeks looked completely fed up (and Dolos had long since passed that point), Quill touched her desk and turned it into chocolate, which their professor seemed intrigued by.

“Is it poisoned chocolate?”

“Uh… no.”

“Is it inedible chocolate?”

“No? It’s just chocolate.” Quill broke off a corner and ate it, smearing brown on her fingers and face. “Chocolate. Chocolate-y chocolate. One hundred percent milk chocolate.”

They stared at each other, Meeks a bit like she had fought her way through to a dragon’s hoard only to find out “dragon’s hoard” was actually “dragons hoard” and instead of a hoard of gold in a dragon’s possession she just found a cavern full of dragons. 

Quill made her fingers splay out like “poof” and smiled awkwardly. “Chocolate.”

Meeks looked like she was two steps away from giving her own name to a hitman. 

This was still the strongest display, to both Meeks and Dolos’ bewilderment, so the next group tried harder. Jamahl sang and nearly hypnotised Gert into falling asleep. Dahlia called a bird and kissed it and it proceeded to, apparently, “have splitting headaches for the next two minutes.” Jay screamed so loud that the ceiling shook. 

And then it was Joan’s turn. Dolos perked up. What was so special about Joan that Logan kept him around? What made him unique?

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

Nothing happened.

“Is that it?” Dolos scoffed, feeling slighted.

Logan held up a finger, his eyes fixed on Logan with a gleam that made Dolos uneasy. “Wait.”

Something on Joan’s shoulder twitched.

Dolos leaned in, peering. The thing twitched again, straining against Joan’s tunic.

A red monstrosity burst out of Joan’s skin, flinging itself at Dolos and screeching. Dolos scrambled away, his mind whirling, backing towards the window.

The demon swung around the room, screaming. The sound--distorted, but Dolos listened and--human screams. Thousands of people screaming and disfigured and combined into this creature, it flew laps around the room and tossed glittering balls of fire seemingly randomly.

For some reason, most of them landed near Dolos.

He may have shouted, he didn’t remember, but he raced away and nearly put his foot in a fire and turned and was cornered by flames and his mind was stuck and he was—

Trapped.

He was trapped. His skin burned and his eyes watered from the smoke. His classmates watched impassively as Joan and Logan studied him, doing nothing, not helping him, he tried to think but the smoke clouded his mind. 

“Use your talent, boy!” Meeks called, but he didn’t  _ have  _ a talent, and, and—

“Aim for the middle of the room.” Logan’s quiet, calm voice, directing Joan’s blasts, cutting through somehow to Dolos’ ears. “He’ll try to run there.”

_ There! _ In the middle of the room, a gap between the flames. Dolos ran towards it and then had to back away because the demon had shot there as if it knew what he was going to do and— _ oh _ . He turned, tried to look through the smoke and fire, and  _ there _ . Logan. His eyes glowing blue. His forehead creased.

He could see the future? That was so— _ unfair _ ! Dolos panted in shock and breathed out only smoke.

Another blast, closer this time, startled him out of his surprise, and he backed away towards the window. Dolos couldn’t see the demon anymore, but--there, perched on Joan’s shoulder, climbing back inside his skin, its job done, and Dolos braced himself against the windowsill, the fire getting closer, closer, the heat licking at his skin and he had to  _ get out _ and--

“Your  _ talent! _ ” Meeks screeched. 

“I don’t  _ have a talent! _ ” He yelled back. Trapped. Trapped.

He was trapped.

“Yes you  _ do! _ ”

He needed help, somebody help him, he needed help he needed-- _ he wasn’t a damsel in distress he was a prince princes could help themselves he needed he needed he needed _ “STOP  _ IT!! _ ”

The fire stopped.

The fire stopped, flickered out, and Dolos stared. Nearby, Logan blinked and rubbed his eyes, the blue light fading.

Water.

Where had the water come from?

In the front of the crowd, a boy with blue skin (his name was Sei, his dorm was across from Logan’s, he hated Vultoor) crossed his arms. “Grow up,” he growled. “Some of us don’t have all day.

Dolos swallowed, but his throat was dry, and the words he was about to say disappeared. 

Logan tilted his head, his eyes glassy and sweat on his forehead but a curious look on his face nevertheless. “You can control water?”

He didn’t say it like a question, but somehow Dolos heard it as one.

Sei cracked his fingers. “Perks of growing up in Mermaid Lagoon.”

A “3” exploded over his head, proudly shimmering a dull bronze. Sei smirked at them all, his skin glistening. Dolos glared up at it, and at Meeks, and at Logan and Joan who got “1” and “2” respectively.

He felt slighted, somehow.

“I didn’t  _ need _ your help,” he said, clenching his fists.

Sei leered at him, widening big buggy watery blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I was handling that,” Dolos insisted. Why did Sei have to butt in? “I was fine.”

“There was a less than two percent chance you would spontaneously conjure up a hidden power,” Logan said impassively, his eyes shooting blue at the statistic. Probability then, not foresight. Dolos didn’t care. “I highly doubt you would have been fine.”

“Then why’d you tell Joan to do it!” Dolos pointed an accusatory finger at Joan, who cackled.

“Logan told me nothing! I did it all on my lonesome!”

Dolos grit his teeth, rolling his eyes to hide his anger. “Oh, I’m Joan,” he said mockingly. “I talk like a woodland ruffian and I cut my hair with a mace!”

Logan nudged his glasses. “Childish.”

Dolos ignored him, pacing now and slapping at his wooden “16.” His skin itched. “I do whatever Logan says and take delight in other people’s misery because my own life is as dull as a rock!”

To his surprise, Joan didn’t answer. He kept going. “My stunningly gross personality is the only notable thing about me and yet I’m still treated as if I’m special because I have a fancy tattoo on my shoulder and the ability to follow the orders of a jack o’ lantern with contacts!” He sneered. “At least I’m not reliant on some fancy magic power! I’m a prince, you hear me?! I’m not supposed to have a talent! It’s  _ good _ that I don’t have a talent!” He was losing his temper and he didn’t care, but he paused.

His face felt weird. He looked around--his rank changed. From a “16” to a “3,” Sei now down to “4.”

What was going on?

He looked down at himself and choked. His face was scratchy and rounder than he was used to. He ran his hands over his head and swept past bunches of stubble hair. When he spoke, his voice was rougher, and he only now noticed it, and his cheeks had dimples when he pulled his lips up to grimace in horror. He was too short.

“Changing your face! No, not just your face- your entire appearance!” Meeks cackled, her bulging eyes more crazed than usual. “So, you do have a talent! Not such a prince anymore, are ya!” 

Dolos stared at himself, hugging hairy arms around a stomach that was absent of abs or muscles or any of what he’d worked so hard for. This was a mistake. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his body. He almost gagged in revulsion at feeling skin that wasn’t his and bones that didn’t belong to him, catching his stagger on a desk. Logan gave him a curious look as he left with a sullen Joan. Dolos barely saw it through his swimming vision. 

This was a mistake.

Somebody else changed him.

He stared at his hands and watched silently as the scabs and scars on his fingers receded back into smooth calluses and pale skin. He hesitantly touched his face. It was his own again. He fell the rest of the way to the floor, Sei kicking him in the leg as the rest of the class stepped over him and left. He almost threw up. He didn’t.

It was a mistake. This had all been a mistake. 

_He was a Good_ _person_. 

He needed answers. 

The School Master had them.

The tower taunted him from the classroom window.

  
  
  


History of Villainy was taught by an old man, with a white beard, and twinkling eyes, and a mysterious smile. He stood there, at the front of the room, and stared out at them all the while pretending not to fear the group for being villains. 

Or perhaps he really  _ was _ neutral, like he proclaimed at the start of class. 

Dolos doubted that, though. Nobody was truly neutral. They all had opinions, and they all had ideals, and they all had  _ morals _ that they followed, or at least wanted to follow, regardless of whether they acknowledged that or not. It was impossible to put things like that aside. 

“Vix!”

“Here!”

“A little louder, Vix!”

“ _ Here _ !”

“Thank you. Logan!”

“ _ Here. _ ”

“Perfect. Joan!”

“HERE!”

“Not  _ that _ loud, Joan.”

Aldin was the only professor Dolos had so far that called roll, and he insisted on doing it twice for each student, his eyes darting between the orderly rows of desks. Dolos narrowed his gaze. He could see the gears in Logan’s mind turning, trying to figure out why Aldin needed so much affirmation about their seating order.

_ Oh _ . He and Logan reached the same conclusion simultaneously—he could see the way Logan’s pointed ears twitched and assumed he’d figured it out.

September Aldin was blind.

“Now,” Aldin declared, after he had made his way through the list of names. “Let me start at the beginning, where there were still two School Masters.”

Dolos could feel the room sag, bored with that one sentence. He (and Logan, the insufferable cactus, king of cactus land, lord of all prickly plants, second in line to the useless shrub throne, long may he die), sat up, though. The School Master ran the school. The School Master could switch him to the right school.

There were two of them?

Maybe one of them had misunderstood the former’s direction—miscommunication that led to Dolos and Virgil being switched. Or maybe they got confused and mixed up getting them to the proper school. 

There had to have been a mistake. Dolos stared down at his hands and remembered when they hadn’t been his own. 

It had to have been.

Aldin described how there was peace at first, where there were two brothers who were in control of the Storian (the magic pen that wrote stories, Dolos remembered). One Good, one Evil. And the balance maintained between the two sides, with no lasting triumphant streaks from either side. 

But then, the Evil brother thought he could fully control the Storian, thinking that, if he did, he could make Evil continuously win, forever. Dolos sneered inwardly. The Nevers around him were in various states of boredom-induced hibernation, but they all gave a groan of annoyance at those words. Even Logan slumped a bit. The Evil brother’s ambitions had resulted in the opposite effect. Evil hadn’t won for over a hundred years. 

Aldin’s words painted a picture, and Dolos let himself float along the story.

War followed. Brutal, bloody war, led by the two brothers fighting each other, the Schools picking sides, the Woods in uproar. Countless deaths and casualties followed. Dolos had never heard of anything like this before.

Then, peace reigned once more across the Woods. Or at least, what was left of it. One of the brothers had perished, and the other locked himself in the School Master’s Tower, never to be seen to this day. Which, now that Dolos thought about it, sounded like a typical ending, and, now that he  _ really _ thought about it, a typical fairy tale, too. The history of a place always starts with a person or event a long long time ago, some conflict begins, something happens, useless fighting, the Good side comes out on top, and everyone cheers. Everyone’s happy -- except for the Evil side, which was to be expected. It was what they deserved. The natural order of things.

But nobody knew which brother had lived and which had died. Dolos sat up. There was no record or witness to clearly state or support which one still resided within the tower to this day. Since Good had kept a victorious streak for over a hundred years now, it was obvious that the Good brother had lived. However, nobody knew for sure, which Dolos found strange. Couldn’t they just go up to the possibly-Evil School Master and ask? Wasn’t the tower an actual part of the Schools? And, anyway, why would someone  _ Evil _ make  _ Good _ win?  _ Forever _ ? 

He slumped back down on his seat, huffing a strand of hair out of his face. It just didn’t make sense, and it frustrated him to no end. Wonderful.

Well, he’d have to assume that the School Master was Good. If this happened to be the case, then it would make Dolos’ mission that much easier. A Good person would listen to him. A Good person would be able to recognize that he, too, was Good.

Regardless of apparently being able to change his face. 

He was Good. He was a  _ Good _ person.

He had to get to the Schoolmaster before it was too late.

Their next class was Surviving Fairy Tales. He and Virgil were in the same group, huddled together under a bright “6” flag. Along with Roman. And a girl named Delilah (Deh-LEE-lah, apparently), who looked fabulous and acted the part. She smiled coyly and waved at him. He smirked back. Yes, these people, he could fit in with.

Roman was on crutches. He still looked amazing, even if he needed them to get around at the moment. Dolos wanted to ask how he’d managed that but, no. That would be weird. 

Virgil latched onto him immediately, which Dolos would’ve normally encouraged had Roman not been around. “Do we have a plan?” He asked, a little too quiet to be properly subtle.

“What’re you trying to be, a spy?” Dolos scoffed. “No, not yet. But I  _ do  _ know how to start: we have to get to the School Master first.”

“The possibly Evil one, yeah,” Virgil agreed. He honestly didn’t look that bad. Frazzled. Tired, he bags under his eyes hugely contrasting with his small smile. But not hurt or sad. How was he holding up in Good?

Hoping he was failing wasn’t a Good thought. 

Dolos couldn’t stop himself from thinking it.

“The definitely Good one,” Dolos corrected with a frown, and Virgil tilted his head.

“I thought they didn’t know? Wasn’t there no evidence to support whether the School Master was Good or Evil?”

“Yes, but look at the facts, Virge,” Dolos said. “I know you aren’t stupid.” People were noticing them, an Ever and Never conversing _amicably_. This switch needed to be fixed as soon as possible. He scowled, causing Virgil to squeeze his arm, and focused his attention back on their conversation. “Good has won for over a hundred years.” And it still startled him a bit to think that Good had ever not won. Jarred him. “And there’s only one School Master left. Therefore…”

“The remaining School Master is the Good brother,” Virgil finished. “Alright. If you say so.” People were still looking at them. Virgil edged closer. Dolos didn’t like that.

Roman sent them both an incredulous look. His hair was perfectly combed, his clothes cleaned and straightened, his smile dazzling. Dolos straightened as he came hobbling forward, glancing between them. He finally settled on staring at Dolos. He smiled. “Hey.”

Virgil took a step back. Dolos ignored him. “Hey.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Hey.”

Somehow that word seemed to be dripping in meaning. Virgil tugged at his wrist but Dolos stepped forward instead. “I’m Dolos.” He held out a hand.

“Prince Roman of Camelot.” Roman’s fingers were calloused and scarred from swordplay. This was what a  _ real _ prince looked like. His brown eyes glimmered, like he and Dolos shared a secret joke, and were best friends already. Dolos realized he hadn’t let go of Roman’s hand and quickly dropped it. He already missed the warmth.

“What on earth is a creature like  _ you _ doing in a school like  _ that _ ?” Roman asked, his eyes quickly darting up and down Dolos’ frame.

Dolos didn’t blush. He  _ didn’t _ . And if he did, it was only because he was proud of what he’d accomplished and happy somebody else saw the obvious mistake. Not because the actual Prince of Camelot complimented him. “There was a mix-up.”

Roman’s eyes slid off Dolos and onto Virgil, his smile falling into a sneer. “Obviously.”

Virgil shrank back, turtling back into his coat. Dolos turned to appraise him, wondering why he had let Virgil stick around in the first place. He was a Good deed, and Dolos had done plenty more of those by now… but they were friends. Dolos didn’t have many of those anymore. The Prince, friends with a Witch… he liked the sound of that. Virgil was a good friend. 

“He has his advantages,” Dolos said in Virgil’s defense. Roman scoffed a bit, but smiled when he looked at Dolos. Dolos savored it.

“I suppose.” Were they standing too close together? Was Dolos breathing too quickly? He was suddenly keenly aware of his breath. Did he smell bad? Of course he did, he’d been in the School for Evil this entire time, and there were no showers there. He wished he had his suit back (now,  _ that _ would have made an impression), but instead he was stuck in this sack.

Roman seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “It really is a shame; that outfit is doing nothing for you,” he commented, his eyes flickering, scanning him. The  _ and yet… _ went unspoken. Was Dolos the only one who heard it?

It couldn’t be. It had to be.

“Why are you talking to him?” Virgil burst. Dolos rolled his eyes. Jealous much, Virgil? Possessive and needy much? From Virgil’s prompt look of bewilderment, Dolos could guess Virgil realized those things at the same time.

Roman wrinkled up his face into a look of disgust. “Why is Vomity Central talking to me? I don’t need an excuse to talk with a gorgeous prince who is  _ clearly _ interested.”

Dolos flushed. He… didn’t like what Roman was implying. He was implying that--that--no. No. That was--no. “I wouldn’t say  _ that _ .”

Roman laughed, like Dolos was being oblivious on purpose. “Anyone with eyes could see that you’ve been staring at me. And I have to say, anyone with eyes wouldn’t be able to look away from you either.” Roman stepped even closer, and now--and now this was--

Dolos recoiled. “What? No! Never! I just--admired you!” That was _unsightly._ _Unprincely_. Virgil gripped his arms, and Dolos shook him off. Not now. Not with that--that _insult_. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. His face was red from heating up just moments earlier. 

Roman sighed dramatically. “Oh, well. What a pity.” When he smiled, it was a small glimpse of a smirk. His eyes twinkled in mirth. 

Dolos took a step back,, into Virgil, who made a small yelping noise. Dolos followed his gaze to Delilah, who’d been watching the whole thing with a red face. Similar to Dolos’, only red in anger and not embarrassment (he wasn’t  _ in love _ with Roman he just admired him he was a prince he should act like one he  _ wasn’t in love _ that  _ wasn’t how it worked that wasn’t how he was supposed to act that was  _ wrong he was  _ just admiring _ he  _ wasn’t _ ).

Her eyes locked on Roman. She sashayed up to them, her smile bright. 

Virgil forced them away, his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “So,” he said, looking as though every word he spoke physically pained him, “how was your day?”

Dolos shook him off once more. “The sooner we switch schools, the sooner my day will be fine.”

Virgil frowned at him. “The… sooner we go home.”

Dolos froze, smiled. He would never go back there. “Right, of course.” He looked back. Delilah was smiling slyly through thick eyelashes, standing so close to Roman she was practically on top of him. He didn’t seem to mind.

That made him feel sick. He didn’t know why.

Virgil noticed him staring and grabbed his arm again. Dolos let him this time. He wasn’t staring at Roman. No, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t  _ in love _ with Roman. He didn’t like Roman that was at all! Roman was his rival, Roman was an amazing prince and if Dolos was staring then it was at Delilah, because Delilah was an amazing princess, and if he was jealous it was because she was flirting with Roman and not him, and not because Roman was flirting with her instead of him. No.

That wasn’t it.

“Are you… if you…” 

Dolos grit his teeth, glaring. Virgil got the hint and stopped talking, pressing his lips together. “ _ No. _ ”

“Right, yeah… I… yeah--yeah. Yeah. But if I… if you…”

“It isn’t Good,” Dolos said, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Virgil, and they both knew it. “It isn’t what princes are supposed to do. Princes are supposed to be strong, brave, manly, save the day and get the _ girl _ .” If he emphasized “girl” then it was only because it was true.

Virgil fell silent. 

A ways behind them, somebody cleared their throat, hooves stomping. Dolos turned, and Virgil let out a surprised “Meep!” 

Chir, their instructor, snorted down at them, crossing his beefy bare arms. “Bad group,” he muttered, picking up their flag in one hand and tossing it over his shoulder. The end was pointy, and the colors were bright. He frowned. Dolos’ eyes widened.

Chir was half horse. He was a centaur.

Nobody commented on it, though, which Dolos hesitantly went along with. Virgil seemed to be immersed in their surroundings to really notice. Dolos couldn’t  _ stop _ noticing, glancing occasionally at the seamless way Chir’s torso slid into a dappled gray horse body instead of human legs. Was this normal? Was this  _ supposed _ to be normal?

“Why is the Blue Grove blue?” Delilah asked, her fingers wrapped around Roman’s wrist. Her voice was light and airy and melodious. Dainty. 

“I heard that a long time ago, the lessons were held in the actual Woods,” Virgil said quietly. Roman turned towards him, eyebrow raised, but Virgil seemed too busy examining the blue foliage around him to notice. “But people kept dying, so some teachers and maybe the School Master sectioned off a less-dangerous part and turned it blue so nobody confused it with the dangerous parts of the Woods.”

Dolos gave him a friendly nudge. Virgil was acting himself again, mostly. That was good. Better than nothing. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Patton.”

And Dolos’ face fell back into a scowl. Patton. Of course. Virgil noticed his look and cast him a concerned smile, which Dolos took as his cue to send back a thumbs-up. Of course it was Patton. Of course.

He wasn’t sure what about Patton made him so annoyed. 

But it was all the more reason to get Virgil out of the School of Good permanently.

Chir first led them to a small divot in the Blue Forest where a circle of tree stumps surrounded an empty space. Dolos suspected Chir had leveled this spot out himself, given the roughness of it all, and he pulled Virgil down next to him, tucking the purple-haired witch casually by his side, all this while keeping a reasonable distance. Close enough to keep track of him, but far away enough that they wouldn’t be associated together more than they already had. Virgil didn’t complain.

“Let me tell you about a little thing called the Trial by Tale…” Chir began, and Dolos perked up. 

This sounded interesting. Useful.

According to Chir, Dolos found out, Surviving Fairy Tales was like any other class. Ranks from 1 to 16 this time, as per the challenge once a day that would instruct them on how to survive in the Woods. Chir leveled them all with a scowl. “Even though this place is less dangerous,” he said, “it’s still part of the Woods. Don’t mess around.” Seemed normal enough.

Then Chir went on a different path. Because, apparently, twice a year, each of the fifteen groups would send its best Ever and Never to compete in an event called the Trial by Tale. 

Dolos could feel Virgil stiffen beside him. He knew what was going on inside the not-prince’s head.  _ What if they had to compete against each other _ ? Ridiculous. Virgil would never manage to place as the best Ever in this group. 

Dolos on the other hand… had been scoring fairly well. 

No, that had been a fluke. An accident. His teachers were wrong. By the time the Trial by Tale came around, he’d be ranked lowest, maybe even on the brink of failure. He’d have nothing to worry about.

Beside him, Virgil didn’t relax.

Neither did Dolos.

Chir said nothing more about this mysterious competition, only that the winners would receive five extra first place ranks, and, therefore, whoever won would surely be Class Captain. 

Class Captain? Dolos could see the students around them exchange wary looks, and Dolos was confused. He hated being confused. 

“Top Ever or Never,” Virgil whispered. “There’s a ranking board. I can show it to you.” 

He’d find it himself, thank you very much.

Chir abruptly finished his talk and took them further into the Blue Forest, randomly chattering about different types of plants he spotted among the way. One of the girls in their group, a very attentive one with beautiful blonde hair, was studiously nodding her head along. Everyone else was chatting amongst themselves. Dolos turned to Virgil, hoping to start up a conversation, but Virgil was staring around them with wide, awe-filled eyes.

Dolos shook his arm, shaking Virgil as well since Virgil was still attached to him. “Hey,” he snapped. He felt off. Irked. Annoyed. He was staring at a picture that was slightly out of focus, and he couldn’t figure out what was making it so…  _ wrong _ . 

Virgil jumped, turned, beamed. “Yeah? The plants here are really amazing.”

Dolos scowled. Yes, he knew that Virgil thought so. He knew because Virgil had been admiring them the entire time. It just made him more annoyed, and he could feel his eyebrows furrowing as he saw Virgil’s confused, worried look. “They aren’t that cool,” he grumbled.

Virgil looked away, a smile frozen on his face. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Dolos shrugged his shoulders, roughly shoving a branch out of their way. “Any plans on how to get out of here, yet?”

Virgil’s grin crumpled into a thoughtful look. “Well… we should ask the School Master.”

“I got  _ that _ far,” Dolos muttered, kicking a cobalt flower as they walked by. Virgil let out quietly-pained whine at the action. “How are we supposed to get up there?”

“The Stymphs?”

Dolos blinked. “What are Stymphs?”

A loud roar distracted him, causing him to stumble back. Roman snickered. Delilah gave him a sympathetic eyelid-flutter, though, and he winked at her. 

“ _ Woah _ .” 

Dolos startled, having almost forgotten the roar, and--it was just a clearing. But then he followed Virgil’s eyes, up, up, up, into the leafy blue trees above them and--oh. 

Woah.

Nests nestled in the branches, each hosting its own gaggle of sleeping black birds. One of them shifted and spread bony wings, letting out another content roar that rattled Dolos’ bones. Tucked away in a shorter tree was a small cocoon of what looked like baby birds, huddled together in the middle. Chir spread his arms and shout-whispered, “These are Stymphs.”

Dolos recognized them as the skeleton birds who had kidnapped him and Virgil. He could hear the students around them breathing out their own exclamations. Gert edged forwards. Virgil was just looking, smiling. Dolos nudged him. 

“Stymphs, like all animals, have a natural tendency to prefer Evers over Nevers,” Chir explained, his voice still in that odd combination of a loud hiss and a soft whisper. “Why?”

He slung the flag from off his shoulder and planted it in the ground, reaching around for a stick that had been tied across his back (Dolos hadn’t even noticed). He began to etch fiery words into the air. “There are five rules that separate the Good from Evil.”

Dolos peered at the writing and felt his blood blaze just as brightly as the words. 

The Evil  _ attack _ . The Good  _ defend _ .

The Evil  _ punish _ . The Good  _ forgive _ .

The Evil  _ hurt _ . The Good  _ help _ .

The Evil  _ take _ . The Good  _ give _ .

The Evil  _ hate _ . The Good  _ love _ .

Dolos’s hands clenched almost against his will. Love? Help? Defend? He did all of those things! 

The School Master  _ had _ to see this.

“You have been picked for your individual skills because you each show these attributes at the highest level! The Stymphs should recognize this, and will naturally flock to the Good instead of the Evil. Now, I find that, sometimes, learning can be a little contradictory. Instead of learning what you  _ should _ do, how about I show you what you  _ shouldn’t _ do? And, subsequently, what you’ll never be able to be?”

Dolos drew Virgil closer to him, like he was shoving his Good deed into Chir’s face. Virgil looked at him curiously.

“So, your challenge for today,” Chir said, clearing his throat. “is to confuse these _ Stymphs! _ ” He shouted the last word at the top of his lungs, banging his stick against one of the trees. The Stymphs burst into activity among a chorus of startled shrieks. Dolos backed up and tripped over a root. Virgil ran into the shadows and hid there, crouching in the shade of a turquoise tree. Screaming. People were screaming. The Stymphs were screaming, too. Dolos called Virgil a coward in his head, and he fled in the opposite direction, but he got blocked by a Stymph while he was fleeing, and he turned to run but then-- _ wait _ .

Stymphs would seek out those who are Good and pure. Dolos could prove he belonged in Good. He could prove that he was Good and not Evil, he could prove he was in the wrong school, he could prove he’d been Good from the beginning-

He could prove  _ everything _ .

He forced himself to stand still. The Stymph flapped its wings at him and yelled in his face and he stood still. He stared it in its eyeless sockets and he stood still and it screeched at him and he could see Chir running damage control in the corner of his eyes and he didn’t look and he waited for the Stymph to eat him and--

It pecked at his head curiously, nudging at his cheeks. Its beak was rough. He barked out laughter. 

It  _ worked _ . 

He reached up, heart thumping, to lightly stroke the Stymph’s skull, but it snapped at his fingers, so he contented himself with not being dead.

The Stymph left him alone.

He was fine.

“You’re really good at that.”

Dolos shrugged his shoulders at Delilah, who was being largely ignored by the Stymphs. One sidled up to her, head low to the ground and looking for all the world like a hopeful puppy, jumping back as she hissed at it. It scampered away, making disappointed clacking sounds, and got distracted by Gert. 

Delilah gave him a shy smile as she approached, and he marvelled at the smooth way she walked. Poised. She was obviously a princess. The perfect princess to Roman’s perfect prince. “There was obviously a mistake when they put  _ you _ in Evil,” she cooed, examining his sack and wrinkling her nose. “How did someone like  _ you _ end up somewhere like  _ that? _ ”

Dolos raised an eyebrow. That… sounded a lot like what Roman had said. “So you admit I’m a prince?”

She wafted a hand in the air. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be speaking to you.”

Well, Dolos couldn’t argue with that. “And I’m very pleased you are.”

Her eyelids flickered, almost as if she was surprised. She stepped closer. “So… why on earth are you still there?”

Dolos mimicked her hand-wafting expression, glancing to where Virgil was hiding in the shadows for some reason, as if he was asking for permission. He couldn’t see Virgil. He spoke anyway. “I’m planning on asking the Schoolmaster tonight.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Maybe. Why, are you worried?”

Delilah’s coy look made his heart rate rise, and he had to fight to contain his blush. “Maybe.”

Dolos only let his lips quirk up in response. This was how a prince was supposed to act. A prince with his princess. A prince and a princess. The way things should be. The natural order of the world. 

Delilah giggled-- _ yelped _ and Dolos turned around, seeing a Stymph watching them viciously with empty eyes. He backed away, edging in front of Delilah, a hand out in front of him. He was fine. He was Good.

The Stymph lunged.

Dolos was knocked to the ground, and he felt Delilah be sweeped away from him. A wind caused him to look up from around a purple-dyed head, and Roman was there, sword at the ready and tugging Delilah away from the stomping Stymph.

The Stymph ran off.

Dolos pushed Virgil off of him, rolling onto his feet. “I was fine.”

Virgil shifted, his face coloring. “Yeah--yeah, sorry. I panicked.”

“You  _ panicked _ ?” Delilah waved at him from where she was attached once again to Roman’s arm. Roman scowled a bit, but didn’t seem too bothered. Dolos raised an eyebrow at Virgil. “You were nicely hidden in the bushes, I saw you. Why on earth did you leave that?” Very out of character. What was this school doing to him?

Virgil mumbled his answer to the blue grass beneath them. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Oh. That was… better, then. Dolos jumped, startled, out of the way of another Stymph, Virgil hurrying in front of him without Dolos’ prompting.

Dolos could see Chir flinch forward, ready to intervene. His heart dropped to his stomach.

But the Stymph just nuzzled up to Virgil,  _ purring _ . Dolos almost fell over because of that one action. Virgil gave him a bewildered look, but he could only give a blank stare in response. 

Hesitantly, Virgil scratched the skeleton bird where its ears would have been if it was a cat.

The Stymph seemed to like that. It seemed to like that a lot.

Dolos took a step back. His heart pounding still, beating against his chest like it wanted to rocket out of his ribcage. 

He was Good. Virgil was Evil. And yet…

_And yet and yet and yet and yet_ _this_ was happening. Dolos pushed forward, past Virgil, brusquely shoving him out of the way, and the Stymph took one look at him and leapt on him and pushed him over and tugged at his hair and its beak was sharp and cut into his skin and his blood was wet on his forehead and the pain stung into his brain.

And he didn’t scream. But he did curse. Because that wasn’t what he wanted _ and that  _ wasn’t what he wanted and that _ wasn’t what he wanted to have happen and it was happening and that  _ wasn’t supposed to happen!

The Stymph’s weight felt heavy on his chest, and he could hear Virgil try to coax the bird off of him, but it didn’t work. The blood trickled down into his eyes, forcing him to close them, shut them tightly, cutting off the steady stream of blue light and the gnashing face of the Stymph in front of him.

His forehead burned.

The Stymph’s claws dug into his chest and ripped into his skin. Was that.. blood, he felt? Wet, cold, blood? Dots swam in front of his vision. He could vaguely hear Virgil screaming out his name. 

_ Dolos _ ! 

And then the weight was off his chest. The claws, too. And he opened his eyes and the Stymph was bounding away, chasing a white object hovering in the air. An egg. 

Dolos sat up. His chest burned. 

“Dolos!” 

Virgil was helping him up. He batted Virgil’s arm away, noticing Roman watching. Chir stood over him, white-faced. He coughed. “You should’ve remembered the  _ rules _ .”

Virgil got a “20.”

Dolos got a “19.” He scowled. 

Chir waved his stick in the air and put the birds back to sleep, the two actions presumably connected. He called out a, “Come on, then! Dinner’s waiting,” and led the others trickling out of the clearing, all in various states of disarray. He didn’t seem to notice Dolos was still lying on the ground, his chest stinging from the cold breeze, as Roman escorted a sniffling Delilah back. 

Virgil helped Dolos up, his hands stained with blood. The cuts weren’t as bad as Dolos had anticipated though, more of bloody scrapes than gouges or wounds. They’d heal quickly. Were already scabbing over.

Didn’t mean they didn’t hurt though.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asked. Dolos saw Roman glance back worriedly. He looked away.

“Fine.”

“So, we have transportation at least.”

“The Stymphs?” Dolos asked, staring around at the slumbering birds. He remembered the weight on his chest and the aching in his ribs. “How?”

Virgil handed Dolos an egg. Dolos gaped at it. “You stole it?”

Virgil nodded jerkily and pulled three more out of his pocket. “While Chir wasn’t looking.”

Dolos picked rolled the egg in his hands. “We’ll go now, during dinner. Go figure out which one looks the tamest.” He managed to stumble towards the nearest nest, the pain in his chest already fading with his new determination (or maybe it was lingering at the back of his mind and fogging his thoughts, or maybe it had been better than he’d thought, or maybe it was trickling down his ribs and chilling his skin…). It was hard to tell in the darkness (Surely Chir should have noticed they’d stayed behind by now?), but he was trying to find ones that seemed particularly strong or weak. 

He couldn’t help stealing looks at Virgil. Wondering if the purple-haired not-Ever was thinking the same thing he was. 

The Good  _ give _ .

The Evil  _ take _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya~! Caellie here. Sorry for the late chapter (yes, this was on me again because my schedule reallyyy loves to throw curveballs at me, and life’s been wack lately), but the uploading inconsistency was warned ahead of time too, so hope you’re not too disappointed! Vaye and I had a bit of trouble with the more romance-oriented sections of the chapter: "CAELLIE HOW DOES FLIRTING WORK" / "HOW SHOULD I KNOW" / "I DON'T KNOW GOOGLE IT" / "I REFUSE TO HAVE THAT ON MY HISTORY” and so and so forth. But the chapter’s finally finished! Thank goodness for that.
> 
> It seems that Dolos doesn’t really want to go home like Virgil does, but insteads finds any reason that Dolos is “Good” while Virgil is “Evil”. How will things turn out when things come to a head? We shall see in future chapters. ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading, y’all! We appreciate every single one of you; your support really makes our day. Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, and stay safe!!
> 
> ~~Caellie


	10. Pen Goes Stabby Stabby... or Does It

Every moment was just further cementing Virgil’s place as a villain. Two last-place scores already, and it was only the first day.

Some of the pictures on the wall in the entrance hall had said “Failed” in large black letters. He’d never seen their faces before. Would that happen to him? Lost in the School for Good, remembered only as a picture with a bronze frame?

He was thrown out of his thoughts when Dolos hissed, “I found one!”

Virgil’s hands shook. He stuffed them in his pockets to hide it. If he didn’t leave, he’d turn out like that painting. Gone from everybody’s memory. Trapped in a school he didn’t belong in. 

Never to reappear.

Virgil rolled the egg in his hand. The Stymphs had curled up to him, he remembered it. The Stymphs had pounced on Dolos. What did it mean? What did it mean?

He wasn’t a witch.

He wasn’t a witch, right? Right?

“Virgil!” Dolos grabbed his hand and dragged him to stand before one of the nests. Three Stymphs curled up inside, two children and one that looked very mangled. Its skull had been smashed in, wheezing slightly as it breathed with a rib missing and one of the bones in its neck broken off.

Virgil paused. The Stymph groaned and shifted, seeming like even that caused it pain. “I…”

“It did this to me,” Dolos seethed. Virgil looked from the corner of his eyes, closing his eyes shut when he saw it. He should have gotten there faster. The sight of Dolos’ torn flesh just… he should have gotten there faster. He should have gotten there faster. Dolos was hurting, and he couldn’t help. Could he help? He couldn’t help. He wasn’t able to help. He would have been if he’d gotten there faster. But he hadn’t and… “It deserves it.”

But… “This one did nothing.”

“Its friend did.”

“I don’t want to hurt it.”

A derisive, scoffing sound. A gray flash in the air. A rock hit the Stymph in the head, and Dolos came soon after, sitting securely on the Stymph’s back. Virgil stepped back. 

The Stymph reared up with a roar, but whatever Chir had done to the others had stuck, and they didn’t wake up. The Stymph barreled out of the nest, screaming in pain with every step, lumbering aimlessly through the blue foliage. Virgil hastily tossed an egg into its mouth, which calmed it down a bit and sent it stumbling to the ground, but did nothing to stop its distress. It made desperate, whining keens that Virgil’s heart ached at.

“Virgil, come on.”

With slight hesitance, Virgil took Dolos’ stretched out hand and clambered onto the Stymph’s back. The bones cut into his skin and made for an uncomfortable seat, but he didn’t dare complain. Dolos was in a bad mood, and he didn’t want to make it worse. Tact, was what it was. He wasn’t scared of his friend. He wasn’t. That wasn’t it.

It never could be it.

Dolos smacked the Stymph in the spine, sending it screeching and bucking into the sky. Virgil began to protest… but didn’t. It’d be in vain. There was no one that could stop him once Dolos had his mind set. And they were already in the air by now. 

Dolos steered by forcing the Stymph’s head around, and Virgil let him with no complaint. The School Master’s tower gleamed in the silver moonlight, a singular window at the top glowing a bright orange, standing out warmly against the cool light around it. 

It was about the size of a normal door, one usually found in Gavaldon surrounded by bricks and thatched roofs. And Virgil and Dolos were hurtling around, attached to a very unwilling skeleton bird, at a speed so fast Virgil’s heart had clambered into his stomach for shelter, but his stomach was precariously holding onto Virgil’s tailbone and couldn’t carry his heart as well. 

“How are we going to reach the window?” Virgil yelled into Dolos’ ear. 

Dolos forced the Stymph closer to the tower, almost on a direct collision course. “One!” 

“What?!”

“Two!” Dolos grabbed Virgil’s hand.

Virgil recoiled. “Wait! No!” 

“Three!” The Stymph screamed, Virgil screamed, Dolos clenched Virgil’s hand tighter and pulled them both off the Stymph and sent them, for one, horrible moment, suspended in the air.

Virgil’s heart pounded.

He shut his eyes tightly.

The sound of breaking glass. Something cutting his face. Blood trickling into the creases of his mouth. Metallic. Pain.

He opened his eyes, and found himself in another room, the floor underneath him, and the fragments of the window burst around them. 

His shoulder ached from hitting it on the floor, and his wrist burned from the carpet, and his head spun from the sudden movement and his arms shook as he pushed himself up. His left wrist had an open gash and was oozing blood. He held his hand over the cut and tried to stem the flow of pain.

“Virgil,” Dolos hissed, and Virgil struggled to his feet and--oh.

They were in the top floor of the School Master’s tower, a circular room filled to the brim with books and shadows. Pressed against the wall sat a smooth, white, stone table, draped in darkness and cobwebs. Hovering over it like an ominous angel of death was a long, thin, blade-like object. Virgil inched closer to the light leaking out of the broken window. Dolos wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and held him close, so close that Virgil could hear his heartbeat.

He slowly reached out and snatched up one of the books on the shelves, dusting off the cover and feeling warm leather underneath his hands. Beauty and the Beast. He reached for another, Dolos looking over his shoulder. The Red Shoes. Another. The Snow Queen. All titles that kids had devoured like bread in Gavaldon. What were they doing here? 

Dolos found another stack. The Singing Bone. Rapunzel. Thumbelina. The Six Swans… 

They were standing in a library of all the fairy tales ever told. 

“I’ve never heard of this...” Dolos handed him Katya and the Seven Strings. 

Virgil opened it. “Once upon a time,” written in a flowing, magnificent script. He cracked open the cover of Thumbelina and found the same handwriting. Interesting.

“Virgil?” Dolos asked, a tone of wonder and awe in his voice. Virgil set the book down and looked over, finding Dolos staring at the knife in the corner.

The knife that wasn’t a knife at all.

Virgil squinted and gasped.

The knife that was a pen. 

“This must be the Storian,” Virgil said softly, joining Dolos in the middle of the room. The pen was crafted of pure steel, straight and sharp like a knitting needle, with deeply carved words that ran unbroken from end to end, engraved by the same hand that had written the fairy tales. The words were so small that Virgil couldn’t tell what it said.

A burst of starlight flared off of the gleaming surface of the pen, scattering the shadows and making Virgil look away and cover his eyes and squeeze his eyelids shut. When he turned back, Dolos had climbed the table.

The table. Of all things, he chose to stand on top of the goshdarn table why was he on a table what was he doing wHY WAS HE GOING TOWARDS THE PEN—

“Dolos, no!”

Dolos didn’t seem to hear him, or, if he did, he didn’t seem to understand. He walked forward, back rigid, eyes glazed, the light from the pen reflecting off his irises.

Virgil threw himself forward. Their bodies collided, and then Virgil was flat on the table, tangled together with Dolos in a mess of limbs and cloaks and dirty black tunics.

Dolos frowned. “I’m on a table. With you.” 

Virgil scrambled off. “I’m so sorry- you were about to touch it!”

Dolos sat up. “Why would I touch it?”

“You—you were in a trance or something!” Virgil bent his head, his face flushing. “Sorry.”

Dolos smiled easily, giving him a hand up. “I accept your apolo—don’t move.”

Virgil froze, his hand clasped in Dolos’, his knee bent as he froze halfway to standing. He carefully, slowly, turned his head an inch and peered over his shoulder.

The pen hung there, pointing at them with its gleaming sharp tip, seemingly wondering which one of them it should stab. 

“Dolos…?” Virgil said, not taking his eyes off of the pen.

The tip seared red.

“Dolos?”

The pen plunged and the two leapt apart, crashing down on either side of the table. Virgil hit his head on the bookcases. Dolos was large enough to break the shelves on his side and was buried underneath the volumes.

“Dolos!” Virgil scampered over to his friend, ignoring the twinging, aching pain in his shoulder blades. Dolos brushed his hand away, pointing.

“Look.”

A cherry-red book had appeared on the table, flipping its own pages frantically before eventually slowing to a stop on the first page. The Storian hovered for a moment near-thoughtfully before diving in.

“Once upon a time,” Virgil read, “there were two boys.”

A new fairy tale.

Dolos gaped from the floor. 

“Now, that’s interesting,” came a smooth, soft voice. 

Virgil whipped around and Dolos scrambled up, eyes searching the gloom warily. Nobody there. 

“Students at my school train and toil and suffer for years, journey into the woods, seek out vicious and perilous battles, search for and conquer their nemesis, all for the hope, the chance, of having the Storian tell their story…”

Virgil backed up into Dolos, who grabbed his hand as Virgil held on tightly, looking around. His heart pounded. He couldn’t see anybody. The voice trickled down from the rafters and the shadows and the vague shapes of bookcases around them, and Virgil couldn’t pinpoint a speaker. 

“And here it starts the story of two first-year, unskilled, untrained intruders.” But the voice didn’t seem malicious or anything. It was just pointing out facts in a neutral kind of way, and that made Virgil shiver. The shadows flowed on the wall like water.

The shadows merged into a person. Virgil gasped and clutched Dolos’ arm. “Interesting, indeed.”

Wearing long, silvery robes that reached the floor and covered his hunched, slender frame, the Schoolmaster smiled eerily at them from behind a silver mask that showed only bright eyes and wide, full lips. On his head sat a rusted crown. 

Dolos squeaked.

The Schoolmaster smirked, almost flirtatiously. “It must suspect a good ending.”

The Storian dove to the next page, and Virgil risked taking his eyes off of the Schoolmaster (he trusted Dolos to protect him, Dolos would protect him) to read what it had written. “One was a gorgeous prince, the other, a lonely witch.” Virgil colored.

Dolos grinned. “I like our story.”

“It hasn’t gotten to the part where your ‘princess’ insults your fashion sense.”

Dolos shot him an irked look, and Virgil sealed his lips, looking down to the ground.

The Schoolmaster observed this all with a curious, silent smile. He waited quietly, seemingly making sure they were done, before continuing to speak. “Readers are quite unpredictable. Some have been our greatest students. Most have been embarrassing failures.”

“We won’t be embarrassing,” Dolos promised. Virgil glanced up at him, fidgeting with his cloak. 

“We won’t bother you at all,” he blurted out. Dolos shifted. Virgil took a chance and ignored him, plunging on. “Especially if you let us go home.”

The Schoolmaster tilted his head. “I do apologise. If I was able, I might have; Woods know how much my faculty would have appreciated it. But if the Storian has started your story—which it, I’m sorry to say, for more reasons than one, has—we must follow it wherever it takes you. I may only let you home if that is where you must go for your story to unfold.”

The Storian madly flipped through the pages to write, “Though their determination was admirable, their quest would ultimately be in vain, and their hard work would be reduced to nothing. It was inevitable.”

Virgil sagged. Dolos pressed his lips together. 

“I suspected as much,” the Schoolmaster said. Virgil could have sworn he sounded amused. “After all, two boys fighting on opposite sides going home together is a bit of a stretch.”

“We’re not fighting!” Dolos protested.

“We’re friends,” Virgil added. Dolos squeezed his hand in confirmation, and the School Master made a noise of intrigue.

“Well, that’s even more interesting,” the School Master mused, “since a witch and a prince may never be friends. Which, of course, means that you, Virgil, are not a prince, and you, Dolos, are not a witch.”

“Exactly!” Dolos exclaimed. 

Virgil paused, adding his own belated nod of agreement when Dolos nudged him in the side. Dolos wasn’t a witch, that was right. Virgil… no, Virgil wasn’t a prince. He would never be a prince. Dolos was correct. The Schoolmaster studied this for a moment, his eyes gleaming. 

“Then, if Virgil is not the prince and Dolos is not the witch, then perhaps what they say about me is true.” The Schoolmaster joined them beside the Storian, staring mournfully at the pages and the elegant words said pen was furiously scribbling. 

“You’re Good?” Dolos asked hopefully.

“I’m flawed.” The Schoolmaster sighed like this admission was the most guarded secret in the universe, like what Dolos did to his skin to make it shimmer in the light sometimes or where Virgil’s cat went every Saturday. Never to be unearthed, knowledge only the moon and the stars would ever know.

“Then… we can go home?” Virgil asked hopefully. The Schoolmaster had said that they couldn’t leave while the Storian wrote their story. But he was mistaken. He’d said he was mistaken. He’d admitted that he might have made a mistake, and Virgil pounced on the chance even as Dolos stiffened underneath his arm. 

“Well, there’s the thorny matter of proving all of this,” the Schoolmaster pointed out, lifting his finger to stroke his masked chin, unknowingly dashing all of Virgil’s hopes in one fell swoop.

“I’ve tried,” Dolos lamented, saying the words in almost a whine. “I’ve tried proving it, and all I’ve gotten is absolutely nowhere. Nowhere city. In the state of nowhere. In the country of failure. Ruled by King Unsuccessful, long may he reign though he’s done nothing with his life.”

Virgil hesitated. He hadn’t tried that. Should he have? He was more focused on how to get home than proving what they were - or, apparently, weren’t. His attention was grabbed once more by the Schoolmaster speaking again. “But there’s only one true way of proving who you are.”

Dolos perked up. 

“What is the one thing Evil can never have…”

A riddle? They have to solve a riddle?

“But Good can never do without?” 

Virgil glanced cautiously over at Dolos and found he was deep in thought. Virgil turned back to the Schoolmaster, who was watching them like a studious researcher watches their test subjects. “We solve your riddle and you’ll let us go home?”

“Or switch schools?” Dolos butted in, seemingly abandoning his thoughts.

The Schoolmaster turned away. “I hope we never meet again. Unless you want a rather sudden and depressing end to your story, in which case I would be delighted. Have an awful life, goodbye.”

“Wait!” Dolos cried, reaching out. Virgil shrank closer to him as the walls slashed apart like an eraser brutally attacking a page filled with content. 

He closed his eyes, pulling up his arm to protect his face as the Schoolmaster disappeared in a smirk of silver and the Storian was brutally vanished in a sea of white as it struggled to keep up with the story and the table underneath them collapsed into nothingness--

Virgil opened his eyes with a gasp, sitting up and looking around, disoriented, where’s Dolos, what did he mean, where was he--

He was in his bed, in Honor 13. Patton snored in the next bed over. He collapsed back to the pillows and stared at the canopy above him, fisting his sheets in his hands.

The one thing Good could never do without…

He couldn’t fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry about the wait! Man, how long has it been?  
> No, wait, scratch that, I’d rather not know.   
> Ayyy, chapter 10! So, what are some interesting things about this chapter? Well, the reason it’s late is because I wanted to finish chapter 12 before posting. Our storage is dangerously low and I like having a nice buffer between us and not having anything to post. Chapter 12 is… delightful, by the way. I’ve recently discovered I love making Virgil suffer. Very fun. I can see why he’s such a popular subject for angst.   
> Anyway, this chapter is really more of a set-up than any actual content. The riddle! Oh, the riddle. Man, that’s going to take them a bit to figure out and a lot of humiliation. Uh, what else… The Schoolmaster is actually a TS Sides character but I can’t tell you who because even I don’t know yet. Dolos is showing his vindictive “Evil” side, Virgil is showing off just how under Dolos’ thumb he is, what fun… Again, this is really more of a set-up for future events than its own chapter, but we had to format it this way for… convenience. Ch. 11 should be out when the stars demand it, but for the meantime, take this! I hope you enjoyed and have a fantastic day!  
> —Vaye


	11. Well We Learn Many Things Here But Is Dolos Going to Accept Any of It? Probably Not, No, Because He's Just Like That and We Have to Deal with It

The thing Evil couldn’t have, but Good couldn’t do without…

Dolos hated to say it, but...

He had no idea.

He was sleep deprived, he was annoyed, he  _ had eyebags _ , and, most frustratingly, he had no idea. 

He asked Logan under the premise of another challenge, but Logan had looked him up and down, scoffed, and responded with a dry, “Tact.” Not helpful whatsoever, like that needed saying.

He had gone to his first class willingly, ignoring Logan’s curious looks. The latter was wondering how Dolos had gotten back last night, but, of course, Dolos wouldn’t tell him.

Dean Remy would be there, and then maybe Dolos could ask, and Remy would respond with an answer that would now seem completely obvious, and it’d all be fine and dandy. He was the Dean, he had to know  _ something _ .

“So!” Remy clapped his hands, leaning against his icy desk. “Little review before we start the day—what characterizes Nemesis Dreams?”

“A milky face and the taste of blood,” Logan answered calmly. Dolos shivered, rubbing his hands futilely along his goose-bumped arms. 

“Exactly. Who knows a villain who defeated her enemies using a nightmare curse?”

“Finola the Fairy Eater,” Joan grumbled. He seemed to be more affected by the mere fact the day had begun rather than the cold of the classroom.

“And she did… what?”

“She snuck into the fairies’ dreams and told them to cut off their own wings. Then ate them.”

Remy accepted that with a nod and moved on. “A villain who killed with a disguise…?”

“Dolos,” someone coughed. Dolos jerked up, looking for the perpetrator—he was  _ not _ a villain! That was a fluke. His weird shapeshifting thing had been a fluke. Just. A Fluke. Joan shifted in his seat.

Remy laughed a bit, but waited until someone said, “Rabid Bear Rex who turned into a bear to kill Princess Anatole.” Dolos scowled. He didn’t recognize any of these names.

He didn’t like being so out of the loop. It was irrational, he knew, but he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise like he was worried about someone using it against him. They wouldn’t, surely. He was a  _ prince _ .

“Right, wonderful.” Remy moved behind his desk and flipped through their textbook. “Any questions from last night’s reading?”

“Um.”

Remy looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

Dolos hesitated. “What’s the difference between Good and Evil?”

Remy frowned at him, rolling his eyes. “You couldn’t have asked Emile that? This is Curses and Death Traps, honey, not philosophy.” He slammed the textbook shut regardless and straightened, looking around the class. “Anyone have an answer anyway?”

“Specifically, the one thing Evil doesn’t have that Good can’t do without,” Dolos said. Logan furrowed his brows. 

“Animal henchmen?” Gert suggested, checking Remy’s face for hints. Dolos did as well, but the dean kept a remarkable poker face from behind his dark-tinted glasses.

“No, Nevers can have animals too,” Dusa said, picking at an icicle growing on the bottom of her desk. One of her snakes reached over and started nibbling on it. “It just takes more corruption.”

“Good hygiene?” Vultoor asked cheekily. Nobody answered him.

“Objectives?”

“Ambition?”

“Backstory?"

“Motive?”

All things Dolos had thought too. But, according to the class, objectives were relative—who could classify what goal was evil or not? Princes slayed dragons, and so did villains. Ambition and tragic backstories were common to both sides and motive, again, was relative. Dean Remy kept carefully silent through the entire ordeal. Did he even know? Dolos wasn’t sure anymore.

Until, “Honor and chivalry and stuff?” Vix said.

Remy clicked his tongue. “I’m going to step in there. Nevers have that, too—it's not like Good  _ invented _ it—they’re too busy looking pretty to do anything  _ that _ smart. Ours just looks a bit different.”

Dolos scoffed. “And what is that?  _ Do _ stab people in the back,  _ do _ steal candy from babies,  _ do _ attack innocent people…”

Remy gave him a judgmental look over his glasses. “I’m shocked you don’t know this, Dolos. Would anyone care to explain?”

Logan twisted around in his seat, his eyes narrowed. “The main rules of Villainous Honor, or the Never Code, are focused on the treatment of fellow villains. Examples include, say, bounty hunters pursuing the same target or two villains having grudges against the same kingdom or other instances where there’s a slight misunderstanding that leads to two forces of evil with the same goal stepping on each other’s toes.”

“That isn’t honor,” Dolos protested. “That’s good organizational skills, anybody with a calendar and social coordination can do that.”

“There’s also the treatment of henchmen and other subordinates,” Logan continued, ignoring him (rudely). His eyes glared colder than the ice under their feet. “For instance, villains should not use their henchmen as sacrifices or betray them in any other way. Villains should not manipulate their henchmen or abuse them or use them as mere pawns.”

“Isn’t that what they’re there for?” Dolos asked. “They’re  _ henchmen _ . Why not? Why not if doing so keeps them around?”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up so high into his hair, Dolos wondered if they’d get lost in there. “There’s a symbiotic relationship between henchman and villain. Villains protect their henchmen and provide the plans, all the brainstorming behind the scenes. Henchmen do the grunt work and dirty jobs in exchange for the protection of being a villain’s right hand. If that relationship is broken, then chaos will run unregulated and the Nevers would be too busy keeping tabs on each other to be in any way productive.”

“And then there’s just respect and common courtesy,” Remy butted in, his arms crossed and looking… ruffled. Dolos frowned. “Even if they’re technically lower in position and status, that does not mean they’re less-than in any way. They’re still humans, and we should treat them as humans.”

“Yes,” Dolos argued, “but they  _ are _ pawns. They’re henchmen. They’re there for your benefit only, and I really don’t see why you people as villains are hesitant to do villainous acts like treat henchmen like the subservient side characters they are and do whatever it takes to reach your goal and save yourself with the evil ambition that you’re supposed to have, are you saying that if, say, Smee was in danger, Captain Hook would have completely abandoned his quest to capture Peter Pan just to help his henchman?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gert answered promptly, her blob-like nose scrunched up and her eyes glaring under her thick, woolly eyebrows. 

“Wait, seriously?” Dolos sputtered. “That’s—that’s  _ stupid _ . That isn’t honor, that’s stupidity, you’re villains, you only have one goal, what on earth could possibly—”

“Be stronger and more valuable than the bond between a villain and a henchman?” Remy asked, raising his voice over Dolos’ with a single, slender, somehow disappointed eyebrow (although Dolos couldn’t imagine what Remy would have to be disappointed about— _ he didn’t do anything wrong _ ). “Nothing. Which is exactly what we’re going to be hearing from you for the rest of class.”

What did  _ that _ mean?

Dolos’s lips promptly snapped together. He pried at them with his fingers but couldn’t get them open. They tingled numbly but stayed shut, and he succeeded only in making them chapped and bleeding.

He spent the rest of that class period sulking in his chair, unwillingly listening to Remy’s lecture on Nemeses. Logan wouldn’t look at him. On the other hand, Joan couldn’t seem to stop.

Logan cornered him after class, blue eyes glowing fiercely. “I’m going to ignore what you said,” he hissed. Joan looked on, his brow furrowed. “But that does not mean I agree with it, or with you.”

Whatever Remy had done to him hadn’t worn off, so Dolos could only grunt in return, looking for a ways out. Nobody was in the hallway. Joan was blocking his exit and Remy hadn’t left the classroom yet.

Logan nodded decisively. “Wonderful. That question wasn’t from a challenge.”

Dolos didn’t feel like he needed to confirm that. Logan knew anyway. Not like he could, even if he wanted to. 

“That question was much more important to you than a challenge,” Logan continued, his eyes flaring. “There is a definite, singular answer, and you need to figure it out.”

Dolos just glared. 

“And if you do,” Logan added, “you’ll leave.”

He begrudgingly nodded (what else could he do?), and Logan stepped back, Joan doing the same.

“We’ll help you,” Logan decided, his blue eyes shining. “We’ll help you get out of here, and then we’ll never have to interact again. Do we have an agreement?”

Dolos nodded again. He could use Logan’s help and that weird future-sight of his and, anyway,  _ technically _ he’d be leaving. He’d be leaving to the other school, but he supposed that counted, and then he could rub his success in Logan’s face.

Joan was still staring at him. Dolos made a face and Joan made the same one back. “Grow up,” he muttered and turned to follow Logan.

He didn’t know what Joan meant.

Dolos was already grown up.

  
  
  


Joan wouldn’t stop glaring at him during Henchmen Training. They were attempting to goad rabbits into fighting each other.

Joan had scared his rabbit too much to get it to do anything but cower. Dolos’ rabbit had escaped him, and he thought it might have jumped off the tower entirely. 

So they were left sitting and glaring at each other while the other students ran about, silent pillars of stillness amongst the movement. 

Dolos was a tree. An immovable, impenetrable tree. Unswaying in the winds of the hurricane, content to wait out Joan’s stubbornness.

As it turned out, Dolos was a very impatient tree. “Okay, what?”

Joan set his jaw, baring pointy shark teeth. “What, what?”

“Why the look--you know which look I’m talking about,” Dolos added, seeing Joan begin to speak.

“You keep saying you aren’t a Never, but you’re one of the worst, most immoral people I’ve ever seen,” Joan spat. Lycastus watched curiously. 

Dolos gaped. “I am not!”

Joan just scowled. “You called me a ‘subservient side character’ and implied that the only thing I’m good for is dying for Logan’s sake. You have no empathy, no thoughts for anyone but yourself, but you think that you’re the perfect prince. It’s stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Dolos said. “I’m right. You’re villains, you don’t have morals.”

“And you don’t have values,” Joan shot right back. Dolos jerked as if he’d been stabbed. He felt like he’d been stabbed.

“Yes, I do!” 

“Really? List them.”

Dolos was left hesitating. If he said what was on the top of his mind (loyalty, love, bravery), it’d be dismissed as just repeating what Chir (or whoever had led Joan’s group and presumably gone over the rules) said. Joan slammed his hand down on the desk in between them and leaned over his chair to stab Dolos in the heart with his finger, an ugly sneer marring his already near-disfigured face. “If you don’t value people as _ people _ ,” Joan said, “you obviously don’t value anything at all.”

He was stopped from replying by Lycastus calling for their dismissal. The students around him abandoned their quest to subdue rabbits and glumly (or smugly, for some) gathered their belongings. Joan stared at him for a long while, the expression on his face unreadable, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and pushing his chair to the floor. “And I’m non-binary, you insufferable expired coupon,” he said finally. “Refer to me as ‘they/them’ or I’ll murder you in your sleep. Logan would help.”

Dolos gaped at the empty space Joan used to occupy, shaking himself out of his thoughts and stewing as he left. That wasn’t grammatically correct. What even was non-binary? Non-binary wasn’t a thing. A gender? No, that couldn’t be right. There were only two—what was that supposed to _mean_?

No, whatever, that didn’t matter. It was probably just a trick or some sort of prank or—of  _ course _ Dolos had values. He was  _ Good _ .

Everybody would see soon enough.

He skipped Uglification in favor of exploring the castle. He didn’t see the point in going to Uglification anyway, and he wanted to see if there was a way he could reach Good castle and contact Virgil, ask if he had had better luck. He doubted it, but he could still ask.

Halfway bridge had the barrier still. He managed to find his way there, hiding whenever he saw a wolf guard, just to look at it some more.

His reflection sniffed and crossed his arms when he saw him. “Back again? Thought you would have learned your lesson the last time.”

“I can never pass up an extra opportunity for knowledge,” Dolos said absentmindedly. If he hadn’t run face-first into the force field the first time he’d come there, then he never would have known it existed. 

His reflection rolled his eyes, the familiar expression looking eerie on his face. “I know that intimately well. Stop playing around. Good with Good, Evil with Evil. Back to your tower, you little rat.”

Dolos faked a pout. “Why do you hate me?”

“You tell me.”

He crossed his arms, his reflection mimicking the motion. They stared at each other quietly for a few moments, Dolos waiting for his reflection to speak again. 

His reflection didn’t. It just stared at him with that deadpan, patient, condescending look of his.

He wanted to slap it right off his own face.

Dolos slunk back through the dark halls of Evil, looking for any other clues. He turned a corner and gagged, something thick and metallic slinking into his throat and nostrils and slipping into his mind. The walls smelled like blood. 

No, not just the walls… the whole hallway smelled like blood. The floors, the ceiling, the scent drifted along the air, mingling with the musty smell from before. He covered his nose and mouth and kept going, trying to push through the smell.

It got worse. Iron, thick and bright maroon, pooling in his mind. He could practically feel red mist hanging in the air. He coughed and tried to stifle it, freezing as he waited for a wolf to come barrelling around the corner.

The wolf never came. He proceeded onwards.

There, a vent, where the smell seemed strongest. He dropped to his knees and held his breath as he used the hands covering his face to tug at the cover (it came off cleanly). Should he go in?

Footsteps in the hallway. Barking.

Well, he had no choice now, really. He took a breath and thrust himself into the opening headfirst and scurried into the walls, feeling his way along. The footsteps went past him, and the smell was becoming almost unbearable. Where was it coming from?

The vent was small and cramped. He felt almost like he was being buried alive, like he was being shoved into a coffin and dropped into the ground, six feet under, no escape. He gasped. The walls closed in on him. It was so dark, it was as if he was suffocating under the weight of the shadows. 

He was going to throw up.

Somebody screamed below him. He came across another vent and squinted into what looked like The Doom Room, where the smell was coming from. He couldn’t make out anything down there other than a big, hulking mass of black fur. A pale, white arm squirmed out from somewhere, then a shoulder, then the beast roared and the arm jerked back to where it was hidden from Dolos’ sight.

He quickly proceeded, his back shoving me his elbows pushing against hard, unforgiving, restricting metal. A coffin. Buried alive.

The smell faded once he’d passed and he took great, gulping breaths once he finally turned the corner, realizing it was gone for good. He carried the faint taste of iron in the back of his throat. 

He found another grate and kicked it open, dropping through the ceiling to an empty hallway. 

Seemingly empty.

Dark bulging shadows jutted out from the walls, shapeless but intimidatingly huge. His legs froze and he waited, holding his breath, as if one of them would attack him. Would they? What were they? He stood stiff in the hallway, breathing heavily and trying not to make any noise.

They didn’t. He edged closer, feeling grateful nobody was around to witness such a display of cowardice.

A large cat head loomed out of the darkness. A panther maybe, or a female lion, or a tiger. He reached out a hand and poked it in the snout.

Fur. But… still. 

Stuffed. 

He ran his hands along the wall until he reached the next bulge and, sure enough, there was a wooden base screwed into the stone, an engraved plaque beneath it, just underneath the furry mane of whatever animal had been killed and put there.

A shiver ran up his spine. Was this what happened to failed students? Turned into animals and killed and stuffed? Displayed as a gruesome warning for future students, held forever as a decoration…

He wasn’t failing, though, a little voice in his mind reminded him. He took that voice and smashed it beneath his metaphoric foot.  He moved on.

After a while the animal heads began to fall behind and light appeared ahead. He hurried towards it, anxious to get away from the wall of—of—

Of whatever that was.

He followed the light until he eventually reached a hallway lit by a single lamp on the wall, the other ones around it (and now he could see a long line of unlit gas lamps trailing behind him like a parade of mourners at a funeral) dark.

The other side of the wall was filled with paintings and cases and objects nailed to the wall.

He reached out and gently touched the glass panes. The biggest one was a scene of a dark throne, surrounded by swirling red storm clouds scattering lightning across the floor. A grizzled man, hunched over and deformed, stood by the throne’s right side, one hand supporting an enormous club slung over his shoulder. Gold spilled out of broken jars and rats scurried across the floor, upon which a pile of dead bodies lay scattered and almost forgotten. Resting morbidly atop the pile was a gorgeous king and queen, wedding clothes marred by dried blood. The king’s head had rolled halfway across the room.

On top of the throne sat a pristine woman, her legs crossed and a jagged, sharp crown of silver resting elegantly on her brow, her dress tumbling onto the floor as she reclined on her throne. She looked smug.

Across the top of the painting read, “HAPPILY NEVER AFTER."

Dolos shuddered. He recalled Logan’s conversation from the first day.

_ “Our Happily Never After. Only for the best villains. Castle all to yourself, people to torture all day and night, evil plots to create--and nobody else! Complete isolation.” _

A Villain’s happy ending. 

He scowled, backing away from the paintings and turning to look at the others. All depictions of Villain victories, none of which he recognized. Villains didn’t get happy endings. That wasn’t how it worked. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to work  _ at all _ .

He left, unsettled. Like there was a voice in his head trying to convince him that, actually, the sky had been red the entire time. Or- or that the water was black instead of blue. And something he thought was so obvious, and so clear, and so  _ right _ was actually untrue. No, but—no. Villains didn’t get happy endings. 

They weren’t supposed to.

The cases, similarly, held objects Dolos recognized from storybooks. A half-eaten apple enclosed by glass spotted with mold. A spinning wheel, a hook. A knife said to belong to the Huntsman. A spellbook said to belong to the sea witch from  _ The Little Mermaid _ . A bracelet of bones. 

Like an exhibition. Was this a museum? 

He moved along the line. The lights grew brighter as he progressed and neared what looked like the exit. Yes, there was the door, slightly ajar and menacingly looming before him. He hurried towards it, stumbling slightly, the back of his throat thick with the memory of blood. His stomach growled. He’d skipped breakfast and he hadn’t had dinner the day before. Now it was lunchtime, he could ask Virgil if he’d had any luck, he could get out of this weird hallway full of—that painting.

Dolos halted abruptly, his breath that he’d so carefully regained fleeing him. That painting. The one by the door, lit up by the gas lamps lines along the wall. 

A village, full of picturesque thatched houses and surrounded by a wide, dark forest. Roaring, angry bonfires in the foreground, casting bright orange shadows on the wall of cottages as walking darkness lurked in the corners, stretching fingers of twisted black paint.

Children were throwing books into the fires. Burning books. Burning storybooks.

Dolos looked closer, a thought wiggling in his mind. Something familiar about the houses. Something familiar about the wood…

That was Gavaldon. 

He stumbled back, a pained, choking noise escaping his throat.  _ Gavaldon _ . In the hallway past the exit he heard an intrigued wolfish noise and a quiet, curious “boof.”

Wolves in the hallway. Gavaldon in the painting. He needed a way out, he needed another exit, he needed to know why they had a painting of Gavaldon in this strange, creepy hallway, he needed—

His back hit the wall and his ankle hit a grate and kicked it open. The wolf outside the exit barked, and he dropped to his knees, scrambling back into that dark, dark place that reminded him of a coffin.

Lunch. Lunchtime. He had to get to lunch.

He kicked open a grate near the base of the tree tunnel and wriggled out, his forehead beading with sweat as he gasped for air. His shoulders burned from crawling through the vents and he was coated in a foul-smelling dust that made the sense of him having lurched out of a grave to join the zombie apocalypse stronger. 

He brushed off his chest (like that did anything) and hesitantly proceeded down the tunnel. No students yet. Or maybe he was late? Maybe he’d missed it? No, he’d heard voices. How late was he? He sped up and emerged into sunlight that almost blinded him. 

“—Evil still has the power to defeat Good,” a teacher was saying, one with a beige cardigan standing next to Dean Remy. Dean Picani, then? “There is no curse on Evil, I believe, despite Evil’s recent…”

“Losing streak?” Remy offered. “Constant failure? Inevitable doom?”

“Track record,” Picani finished with an exasperated look. Remy only returned with a deadpan expression. Dolos slipped into the crowd of Nevers and began to shove his way towards the Evers, looking for the familiar shock of too-dark purple hair.   
“Second, the School Master is on nobody’s side,” Picani continued. What had started this? What was the point? Oh! There, tucked next to a clump of trees, Virgil stood watching with his arms crossed over his stomach, a green-haired girl sitting next to him looking bored. Talyn. 

“How do you know?” a Never shouted. Dolos didn’t know his name. He hardly knew any of the Nevers’ names, now that he thought about it.

“We have proof.” Dolos craned his head to see who had spoken—September Aldin, staring straight ahead and blank-faced. The history professor. History. A museum with a painting of Gavaldon. Was it his museum? Was it his painting? No, he was blind. He couldn’t paint. Where had he gotten it?

“What proof?” an Ever this time.

“You guys are smart,” Picani exclaimed, clapping his hands like a delighted preschool teacher. (“I wonder sometimes,” Remy muttered.) “You’ll figure it out!”

So, it was obvious, then. It was right under their noses. Was the proof the answer to the riddle? No, that didn’t line up. Proof that the Schoolmaster wasn’t on any one side? That the Schoolmaster was on  _ both _ sides? That was the opposite of the answer. He needed a difference between Good and Evil— _ the _ difference, even. Not a similarity. 

Why did nothing make sense?

“Finally,” Remy said, raising up a finger like he was about to make an incredibly important point. Dolos reached Virgil and gripped his arm.

“What’s going on?” he whispered. Talyn glared at him behind his back, he could feel her eyes on the back of his skull. 

“I—”

“The Schoolmaster, first and foremost, is here to protect the Storian,” Remy was saying. Virgil looked… unsettled. Disturbed. Why? What did he do? “Therefore, he keeps himself locked up in that tower you see over there and never comes out.”

“So,” Picani said, “I am sorry to say that it is impossible for any student to have seen him. Regardless of any rumors you might have heard.”

Eyes from the Evers turned to him and Virgil—no, just Virgil. Dolos squeezed Virgil’s arm tightly. “What did you  _ do?” _

“I didn’t mean to,” Virgil whispered back, his eyes closed tightly. “I didn’t—it was an accident.”

“According to gossip, Professor Niel interrogated him,” Talyn piped up, still glaring at him—what was her problem? “It was brutal. Virgil asked a question about the difference between Good and Evil and he got yelled at in return. You really shouldn’t be so harsh with him. You’re not being a good friend.”

Virgil shrank back into the shadows of the tree and Dolos gave her his best death glare. _How dare she?_ “Virgil is my friend! I know how to treat him- in fact, I’ve known him for years! Stop butting in where you don’t belong, especially if you have nothing helpful to say, okay? He doesn’t need you, and I certainly don’t want some peasant interacting with him if you want to try and undermine his closest, _best_ _friend_.”

Talyn began to protest but Virgil spoke before she could. “It’s—it’s fine,” he mumbled. “Dolos is just being protective. You don’t have to—you shouldn’t—you don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me,” Talyn grumbled, but before either one of them had a chance to reply, she had already packed up her stuff and stalked off to sit somewhere else. Good. 

“You didn’t have to be so mean,” Virgil muttered. Dolos pulled him closer like physical distance would stop Talyn’s persistent, idiotic comments from coming between them. He wasn’t harsh with Virgil. He may be strict but it was for Virgil’s own good. She shouldn’t say stuff that wasn’t true, she shouldn’t  _ lie _ . 

He was just being a good friend, after all. Besides, friends shouldn’t  _ lie _ to each other- that was a Never thing to do! 

And he clearly wasn’t a Never.

“Now I  _ know _ something’s fishy about her,” Dolos said, accepting the picnic basket Virgil handed to him and barely stopping himself from ripping the napkin off the top and wolfing down the soup he found inside.

“They—she really isn’t as bad as you think they—she—she is.”

They? She? “Joan, a Never, had the same thoughts about what he wanted to be called,” Dolos said to his bowl of soup. “And Joan is  _ Evil _ .”

_ “If you don’t value people as people, you obviously don’t value anything at all.” _ Untrue, untrue,  _ untrue _ . All lies. 

“R-right. Right. Of course.” Virgil hesitated. “You—really think she—they—she’s-- that bad?”

“Virgil, the first thing she did was try and separate us,” Dolos said. “You’re in a new environment, and you kind of stick out here,  _ and _ she tried to pull you away from your only friend.”

“I —I have Patton, too.”

“Do you really?” Dolos doubted that.

Virgil didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay, Virgil. You still have me.” And Dolos still had him. Even if everyone in Evil thought he was the Grand High Witch Ultimate, he still had Virgil. He’d always have Virgil to reassure him. Remind him he’s a prince. Dolos was a prince. Virgil  _ proved _ that. 

“Ri-yeah.” Virgil leaned into him. He was warm. “Thanks.”

The Evers and Nevers were looking at them. Dolos considered shooting them a rude gesture. Logan and Joan whispered in the corner underneath a dead, rotting tree and Roman held court with Beatrix by his side near a stump to Dolos’ left. Roman winked at him.

The soup turned sour in Dolos’ mouth. 

“Have you had any luck with the riddle?” Virgil asked eventually.

Dolos shook his head. “No. You?”

Virgil made a weird scoffing-laughing noise in the back of his throat, swirling his spoon in his own bowl of soup. “Guess.”

_ “There’s a symbiotic relationship between henchman and villain...If that relationship is broken then there’s chaos and the Nevers are too busy keeping tabs on each other to be productive.” _

_ “And then there’s just respect and common courtesy...They’re still humans and we should treat them as humans.” _

_ “You keep saying you aren’t a Never, but you’re one of the worst, most amoral people I’ve seen...You have no empathy, no thoughts for anyone but yourself, but you think that you’re the perfect prince.” _

“What could it be?” Dolos wondered aloud.

“No idea.”

Maybe the Schoolmaster knew they wouldn’t be able to solve the riddle. Maybe he was laughing in his tower, pointing a gnarled, wrinkled hand at them, guffawing his creepy silver mask off. Maybe this was all his ploy to keep them busy while he trapped them in his school forever, as they slowly went crazy thinking about a question that had no answer.

If that was his plan… 

Dolos had to say it was working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervous laughter*
> 
> Soooo.. Sorry about the chapter being posted so late! We did try to keep a consistent once-a-week posting schedule, but we are not very reliable on that. And by we, I mean me, Caellie, because Vaye was the one pushing me to review Chapter 11, and I kinda feel bad we weren’t able to post this sooner because my schedule is a meanie. But! We finished it! We posted it! It’s here!!
> 
> Anyways, some updates:  
> We see manipulative Dolos here, trying to wind Virgil closer to him, making him believe that he is Virgil’s One and Only Important Friend. We’ll see how that shows and (maybe) change in later chapters.  
> Regarding pronouns: As you may have noticed, Dolos doesn’t really care for the pronouns that Joan and Talyn prefer because he only really cares about Himself and Virgil. (Vaye’s edit: we-ell maybe not even Virgil. We’ll see) Everyone else is just an obstacle that needs to either be ignored, dealt with, or overcome.  
> Oh? What did Dolos find out? And how will this affect the future?
> 
> We hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! We always love to read your feedback (Vaye, especially, because she’s just Sweet and Excitable like that), and we’re definitely open towards any comments/questions/constructive criticisms. We hope you have a wonderful, fantastic day, and that you stay safe during these chaotic (and not in a good way) times.
> 
> ~~Caellie E


	12. Ethann Is Being an Absolute Clipboard and Also Talyn and Patton Form the Virgil Protection Squad Against Dolos' Wishes (Not That They Ever Cared About Dolos' Wishes in the First Place)

Virgil didn’t have to look at a mirror to know he looked like a raccoon. He could practically feel the bags under his eyes drooping and flopping like dog ears as he walked and stumbled to Weapons training. First day of challenges. He barely summoned the energy to be nervous. 

How he was going to survive today was a mystery.

The one thing Evil could never have, but Good couldn’t do without? Virgil didn’t even know where to start. They were  _ never  _ gonna go home at this rate.

Patton waved as he trotted off to his first class of the day—Virgil had already forgotten what that class was. Was he that bad of a friend? Of course he was. He could barely help Dolos and Dolos was probably the best friend a person could have. His vision darkened as he walked and he jolted—his eyes had even slipped closed at some point. Maybe during Samir Luphel’s lecture Virgil would just topple out of his chair. Maybe they’d be running through drills and Virgil would collapse like a dainty princess or frail wanna-be prince. He cut off his laugh before it could escape his throat. 

He sat down in his chair on the grassy lawn, shivering. Terrence had moved completely over to Roman’s side of the chairs. No crutches now. Whoever the medic was here must have been pretty good for Roman to have completely recovered. Samir Luphel sat perched on his desk and, with a clap, began class.

Something uneasy pushed from the back of Virgil’s mind. Of course he couldn’t expect himself to feel comfortable after just one class. What was wrong here? What could possibly harm him? He tried to ignore it. 

Samir spread his hands. ‘So! Let’s talk push and pull.”

Virgil paid attention. He really tried to, but his eyes… they kept closing… his mind drifting…

_ Stay awake _ .

Push and pull, push your opponent back as much as you can before pulling him forward, effectively trapping them. Like the ripples of an ocean. Samir set them to practicing distance against each other, playing some sort of game where they had to keep a length of rope sufficiently slack as they moved back and forth, back and forth across the lawn. 

Virgil had been paired with Edward. 

Edward, for some reason, thought the appropriate response to this was sneering at him. 

Virgil couldn’t make himself sneer back. Yes, yes, Virgil didn’t belong with the Evers,  _ he knew that already _ . He just tried to keep up as Edward tugged him around the lawn, running to keep their rope slackened as Edward lurched around trying to trip him up. “Knees over toes!” Samir shouted and Virgil crouched lower, not even bothering to check. Did he look like a crab? He felt like a crab, scrabbling over the wet grass. At least Edward seemed to be having the same problem.

The Advanced group practiced something similar, but that looked much more complicated, taking turns stepping forward and lunging and trying to hit each other with a spare glove. More strategy involved. More thinking. 

The exercise woke Virgil up. He shook his head roughly, like a wet dog, and pushed himself. His legs burned, but he kept his eyes open. At least he was awake, then. He yawned.

Samir clapped his hands again. “That’s enough for today! Head to the showers and go get breakfast.” He tossed a few power bars from his basket, looking a bit like a buff, old flower girl. Another hand clap and rankings appeared.

Virgil got a solid twelve. That wasn’t failing. That was... good, even. He shook out his arms, sweat trickling down his back, and swallowed down his fear. The one thing Good needed but Evil couldn’t have… It didn’t work and just bubbled uselessly in his gut, but he approached Samir anyway. For Dolos. For Dolos and for the goal of returning to Gavaldon. “...Sir?”

Terrence watched him curiously but left with the rest of Roman’s gang. Samir looked up, smiling. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he did that. “Virgil, hello! Great job today, I particularly liked how you ignored Edward. Fantastic job.”

... _ Virgil _ did a fantastic job? No, he must be lying. No one ever praised Virgil except Dolos. No one ever  _ saw _ Virgil except Dolos. “I… sorry to bother you but I… I had—had a question.”

“Wonderful. What is it, then?”

Virgil took a deep breath and blurted it out. “What’s the difference between Good and Evil?”

Samir stared at him for a long time. Virgil shifted in his boots and waited, his heart thumping.

“Surprisingly little,” Samir said eventually, his eyes looking straight past Virgil and at something Virgil couldn’t see. “When you get down to it, you see there’s… not much at all.”

He waited for Samir to finish his thought, but that seemed to be the end of it.

“Ah. Well… thank you. And thank you for class, too. I ah… I should go.” And Virgil left. Left his teacher behind and trotted back across the lawn. That… was a confusing answer. Sounded more like something a philosopher should have said. Not his short, old, calloused professor. 

Last time he was too nervous to eat breakfast and had taken one of Samir’s power bars. This time, he was too tired to do even that. He sat in his chair in the beautiful mahogany dining hall and listened to Patton chatter. His first class of the day had been with Ethann, right. Scents of sugar and some sort of fish (olive oil and sardine toast) wafted up his nose. His stomach growled in response.

“Eat something!” Patton said, nudging him. He barely registered it.

“Uhhmmhm.”

A swath of pink satin flumped down beside him and Virgil managed to turn his head. Talyn pouted at him. “Aww, is our resident emo too tired for sardines?” They piled a crepe onto their plate and made a face as if somebody had drugged them while they weren’t looking and they were mildly surprised by it. It might have been a pout. Maybe.

Patton giggled from Virgil’s other side.

“He didn’t get to bed until  _ really _ late,” Patton said over Virgil’s head and he could practically  _ hear _ the eye-roll. 

He roughly shook his head again and brushed his hair back, reaching for some toast. Couldn’t fall asleep here. That would be bad. 

“Oh?” Talyn nudged his shoulder. “What were you doing?”

Of course they had to ask right after he bit into his food. From the face they made, they’d known exactly what they were doing. “I—uh, I—”

Patton covered his giggle with his hand this time. Virgil’s vision got veiled with purple hair as Patton ruffled his head. Annoying. But it was Patton, and Virgil couldn’t be mad. “It’s fine, Virge!” said Patton. “You can nap here, we’ll wake you in time for your next class.”

“Mhmhblrg can’t.”

Talyn poked him in the side. “Why not? The table’s cozy, man, try it!”

“Rude.”

“Ethann isn’t here!” Patton chirped.

“Mhhmmm, Dolos said so.”

_ Clink, clink, clink. _ The noise of cutlery and chatter swept over Virgil’s head like a wave, blending into comforting background noise. Rain on a tin roof and wind over a prairie. Sleep… he was so tired. Virgil’s eyes slipped closed again and he jerked himself awake, shoving toast into his mouth like it would help him not fall asleep in front of everyone. It tasted slimy. He rubbed his eyes but only made them itch. “...what?”

Talyn and Patton had quieted. 

“...sorry.” He said something wrong, didn’t he? He always did. He messed it up. “Sorry, sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine! No need to apologise,” Talyn hurried, casting… concerned? looks at Patton, who reached out to ruffle Virgil’s hair again, fluffing his bangs back over his eyes. Virgil swept them away again. Dolos said he had to keep his eyes clear. Dolos was always right.

“Nothing, kiddo.”

Virgil grumbled into his disgusting toast, wrinkling his nose at the soggy feeling in his month. “Are you even older than me?”

Patton adjusted his glasses, winking. Cartoonish. “Well, how old are you?”

“...fourteen. And a half.”

“Fifteen!” Patton looked much too smug about that. 

“Sixteen, hah.” When Talyn stuck their tongue out it was painted bright red with raspberry juice. Patton gasped mockingly and slid the platter of crepes over to himself and away from Talyn, leading them to steal it back with fakely furrowed eyebrows and a wagging finger. “Respect your elders, child!”

This felt… nice. 

This felt  _ nice _ . Huh.

Huh.

Maybe he could ask them? They were—they seemed Good, if not… if not  _ good _ good. “Hey, uh.”

Talyn and Patton both looked up at him. He pushed ahead anyway, regardless of their  _ gazes glaring staring piercing staring at him what if he said something wrong what if he drove them off _ “what’s one thing Good has to have but Evil can’t ever have?”

They sat there for a short time. Blank-faced.

Virgil studiously didn’t look at them until—

“Fashion sense,” Talyn deadpanned. Patton clapped a hand over their mouth.

“Talyn! That’s not nice!”

They licked his hand and he snatched it back with a shriek. “ _ Talyn! _ ”

Was this how friends acted? Friends who—friends who didn’t know how awful Virgil was? How much Dolos had to work to get him away from being a witch? How— _ fake _ everything was, how pathetic everything was, just like Dolos had always known?

He hated that they’d find out one day.

The bell rang and Patton hopped up, giving his hair one last rumple as he swung his book bag over his shoulder. “See you at lunch!”

“Yeah,” Talyn echoed, their multicolored eyebrows creased. “See you.”

Virgil slouched out of his chair and pressed his shoulders back, watching their green hair disappear into the surge of people. Right. Ethann Niel, Chivalry and Grooming. Last time, he was… 

He didn’t really want to remember last time.

He slid into Niel’s classroom early and found his seat pretty quickly. There was only one other boy—whose name Virgil tried to find but couldn’t—there, who was sitting in the back, and Ethann perched at his desk. Nicely in the middle, pressed against the wall farthest away from the door. Safely in the middle. Nobody staring at him, surrounded by a barrier of other people for protection. Safe once they got here. Virgil cracked open his textbook and flickered his eyes over the first few pages, trying to remember what part they’d been supposed to read—what if he got called on? He wouldn’t know what to say—

“Virgil, come up here?”

Virgil’s shoulders instantly shot to his ears. He peeked up. Ethann was staring at him expectantly, big brown eyes that looked so much like Patton’s narrowed. He  slid his chair back with a horrible screech, his heart thumping inside his stomach. 

“No, bring your stuff, too. Come on, don’t dilly dally.” Ethann’s grin was ferocious, his eyes gleaming. Virgil’s heart pumped so quickly, he could feel it trying to escape through his ribs. He tucked his textbook into his arms and shuffled up to Ethann’s desk.

“I don’t trust you not to misbehave,” Ethann whispered, like it was all some huge secret he thought Virgil was a witch. Like nobody knew it but them. “And so, you will sit right there—” he pointed to the seat directly in front of his desk “—where I can keep an eye on you. Alright?”

Virgil’s breath caught. He… he had to sit  _ there _ ? Right in front of Ethann? And the class? Where everyone would be staring at him? He’d have no way to hide. He shakily nodded his head. Okay, ok-okay. Okay, okay. Sure.

“Good.”

Virgil lowered himself down onto the chair. His hands left traces of sweat on the table and on his textbook when he opened it again. He had to deal with this now, but he’d leave soon, and then it would be fine. Dolos would make it fine. Dolos was probably having much better results on the riddle anyway, and when lunchtime came he’d tell Virgil the answer, and it’d be incredibly obvious and Virgil would feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, and he’d get to go home and never talk to Ethann again.

Or Patton. Maybe, maybe he’d miss Patton. And Talyn. But—Dolos said Talyn was manipulating him. No, he wouldn’t miss Talyn. And with Patton would come Ethann. No, better to leave them altogether.

He wanted to go home, be with Dolos, that was everything he wanted. Nobody else, nowhere else.

“Oh, Virgil?”

Virgil’s head jerked up, his textbook cover trapping his hand when he flung it closed. He barely paid attention to it. Ethann was staring at him again. “Y-yeah?”

“ _ Yes, sir. _ ”

Virgil didn’t dare look down like he wanted to. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. He was caught in Ethann’s fake Patton Eyes.

He hated how much they resembled each other.

Ethann sniffed, looking much too pleased with himself. “Why don’t you push your desk a little closer? If you try to attack any of my students I wouldn’t be able to stop you at this distance.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Do it, Virgil. You’re only one score away from failing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t need to hear more. He gently moved his desk a tiny bit forward, just enough that it wouldn’t make a noticeable difference to the rest of the class. 

“Closer, Virgil.”

He was going to throw up. He could feel it bubbling into his throat. He moved his desk a good couple of inches ahead of the rest. No farther, please, there would be so many eyes on him already surely Ethann wouldn’t make him go any—

“ _ Closer. _ ”

Their desks were almost touching now. This was ridiculous, but he didn’t have the courage to say that out loud. He didn’t even have the courage to look Ethann in the eye.

And he knew Ethann was right.

Ethann snapped his book closed and turned away and Virgil took the opportunity to practically fall into his seat. He didn’t care that his chair bit into his shoulders. He stuck his hand back into his bangs and let his eyes scan over his textbook again.

Not that he was actually able to digest any of it. Students were pouring into the classroom now. He felt the glances being tossed his way. Roman sneered and laughed when he saw. Why did that hurt so much? He was used to the looks and the jeers. Why did it make him want to hide in a corner and never come out?

_ SLAM _ .

Virgil jolted back, his fingers getting caught in his hair and sharply tugging at his skull. He almost yelped, biting down on his tongue to stop it and drawing blood, and he cautiously, meekly looked through his bangs. Ethann smiled evilly at him, his hand still on the textbook he’d banged onto Virgil’s desk.

“Good morning, class.” Ethann straightened and spread his arms, a pastor preaching to the masses of giggling Everboys. Virgil shrank into his jacket. “Welcome back.”

They started with review. For almost five seconds Ethann actually talked about the review. For almost five seconds Virgil thought he’d be able to make it out of class alive.

His five seconds were cut two seconds short when Ethann tapped his fingers against his desk and demanded, “so, Virgil, tell me, how far down along the line of succession is a second-born prince whose older brother has two sons?”

Virgil was going to cry. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Not sure what I expected,” Ethann commented. The room snickered. Virgil flushed. Ethann never shared the answer.

He moved on for another five seconds. Which he then ended two seconds early again with a, “Virgil, hey, what’s the role of a king who abdicated his throne to his son?”

Virgil mumbled into his sleeves, “I don’t know, sir.”  _ You’re the teacher, shouldn’t you know? _ his thoughts whispered. He hushed them, but they lingered. If only he could talk back. If only he could say what he wanted to, here. 

This would never be home for him.

“I thought not.” 

Ethann kept targeting him. Virgil knew why, he knew exactly why Ethann was acting so— _ mean _ . Protecting Patton from him, from the dangerous, suspicious witch who sauntered into the classroom with purple hair that was too dark and a permanent scowl, who so very clearly did not belong in the School of Good. Virgil would have done the same, if it was Dolos. He felt the looks on his back and kept his eyes glued to the wood of his desk, trying to count the cracks and divots and messages clumsily etched on the side (why would somebody write  _ milk _ ?). 

He got to twenty-two and moved on to the dips and surges of the thread in the embroidery of his jacket sleeve. 

“What’s the difference between a vizier and an advisor?  _ Vir _ -gil, you answer.”

Virgil had already answered the previous four questions. “I—viziers are—f-f—for pharaohs and sultans? A-and—and they’re much more important, like assistants or—or-or-or—yeah, assistants, whereas advisors are—are-they’re lower ranked and there are more of them? Like—like, like princes versus nephews they’re—princes are higher and closer to the king and there are fewer of them and nephews are—there are more of them and-and they’re less–they’re further down the line of succession.”

Virgil knew that was right. He’d learned that by himself, reading fairy tales in Gavaldon in his room while Adrestia, his mother, was down in the village trying to make money. He held his breath. See? He wasn’t stupid. He could answer at least one question correctly.

Ethann sneered. “Just say you don’t know next time. Then we could at least pretend you’re smart.”

Virgil recoiled, his eyes widening.  _ W-what?  _ Ethann moved on, but Virgil stayed stuck.  _ But–that was correct!  _ He knew that was correct. In all the fairytales—

He answered “I don’t know” for every question after that. Then they could at least pretend he was smart. Dolos had told him, hadn’t he? Dolos had said it was better to keep his mouth shut, better to be quiet, better to not show off. He’d shown off, hadn’t he? He was probably wrong, anyway. Self-taught, how did he know what he learned was right? Stupid Virgil strikes again.

He stayed quiet.

Ethann snapped another book shut and Virgil jolted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Any questions?” he chirped and, oh, Virgil hoped class was almost over.

He wouldn’t ask Ethann. 

“Not unless Virgil is going to ask his weird thing,” somebody snickered. Virgil’s cheeks went bright red, he felt it, his face heated up. That was Roman. He’d sat by Talyn and Patton and him during breakfast and had hung around after Swordplay and Weaponry. He’d overheard.  _ Of course. _

Ethann raised an eyebrow. “What weird thing?”

“‘What’s the difference between Good and Evil?’” Roman mocked, making his voice all low and raspy and—was that what Virgil sounded like? Really? The class tittered.

Ethann looked down his nose at Virgil and Virgil—he was a bug to Ethann. A poisonous bug that had to be squashed, he knew that. Justifiable. Vindicated. Defended, excusable, reasonable. But—it felt so bad. Almost suffocating. “Manners,” Ethann said haughtily. 

More laughter. Virgil picked at his fingernails and tried not to cry. Tears pricked at his eyes anyway. No, princes didn’t cry. If Virgil wanted to be anything but a witch, he wouldn’t cry. He pushed the tears back through sheer force of will.

“I’m curious, though, why’d you ask?”

“No reason.” His voice barely shook but Virgil just knew the tiny tremor was all anybody would focus on. Not that they weren’t looking at him already.

“Wondering about your place here?” Ethann simpered, completely ignoring Virgil’s answer. “Well, let me tell you now and spare you the trouble; look around. You see the difference between us and you?”

If Virgil moved his eyes the tears would spill out, so he stayed where he was. His desk jolted underneath his elbows—Ethann had kicked it. “ _ Look _ ,” he hissed.

Virgil looked. His classmates made faces at him, pointed, whispered. He wouldn’t cry, he  _ wouldn’t _ .

“There’s your answer,” said Ethann smugly. “Really, though, where’d you come up with that? A witch like you is too dumb to think of such a philosophic question.”

His hands shook like his voice when he answered. What could he say? What would Dolos say? He should be brave, like Dolos, for Dolos, like a  _ prince _ . Where was the courage he’d had yesterday? It seemed so far away now. “It’s a riddle.”

“A riddle,” Ethann taunted. “Who gave it to you?” 

“Th—the—th-the—” he couldn’t get the words out.

“Th-th-th-th—” Roman mocked. Laughing, laughing, everyone was laughing at him why did he have to be here why couldn’t he just look normal and act normal and—

“The Schoolmaster,” he blurted.

Ethann froze. He stiffened up, sucked in a breath, turned into a statue as Virgil watched, and plastered on a cloying smile. “The...  _ Schoolmaster...  _ gave you a riddle?”

This, this was a carriage crash. He was watching as the footman let go of the reins and the horses veered in different directions, waiting for the coach to fall sideways on the road, seconds before tragedy struck. 

He bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

Ethann unstuck his limbs like a creaky wooden puppet, seemingly remembering that Virgil was a bug and anything he said was automatically stupid and therefore disregarded. “You saw the Schoolmaster?”

“ _ Yes, _ sir.”

“You’d lie to a teacher?” This was a dangerous question. Almost accusing.

Virgil curled his hands into fists, his jagged nails cutting into his skin. “It’s not a lie!” 

“And I bet you saw the Storian, too!” Edward crowed. 

“We did, actually!”

“And it started your fairy tale?” guffawed Roman.

Virgil’s hands were hurting now. “Yes!”

Ethann hit Virgil’s desk again amidst the roars of the class. Virgil still had the thought to jump. “I’ll give you one last chance to redeem yourself,” he spat. “Did you, or did you  _ not _ , meet the Schoolmaster?”

Dangerous,  _ dangerous _ question. Any answer could bring on Ethann’s wrath, whether it was true or not. What would Dolos do? What would a  _ prince _ do? Tell the truth, tell the truth. Surely, there’d be ways to prove this. Virgil’s heart hummed in his chest. “We  _ did _ .”

“All hail! Emperor of fools!” Roman whooped. “Love the new clothes, by the way! They really make your hair pop!”

Virgil twisted around in his seat. “Yeah, and all hail Roman, prince of petty classroom bullies. You wouldn’t know Good if you stabbed it with your sword—it’s a good thing you have that swan, otherwise I’d have no idea if you were a Never or not!”

Roman’s grin halted on his face. Virgil sneered but it came out as more of a grimace, his eyes watering. He felt a tear slip down his cheek as he glared. “What, has the  _ jerk _ in a prince’s clothing finally run out of insults? Are you going to go steal some candy from a baby now, or tell a princess she looks fat?” Roman said nothing. Virgil rolled his eyes. “Spare me the dramatics, you all sound the  _ same  _ anyway, I’m not losing anything if you keep silent. Pompous jerks, all of you.”

“This will be reported,” Ethann muttered, but Virgil didn’t have the thought to care. It flew out the window a long time ago, along with whatever was left of his dignity and pride. 

The bell rang. Virgil dashed his tears on his sleeve and grabbed his things, a sullen “19” floating above him. Of course. Ethann would rather give a “20” to another student than risk turning Virgil out into the world where he could do anything, hurt anybody,  _ hurt Patton _ . He’d take the “19”. 

Roman shoved his shoulder as he walked by. “ _ Witch _ ,” he sneered. “Don’t come near me, your wickedness might be contagious.”

Virgil hadn’t really expected anything else.

He stumbled through Physical Education with another “16”. Chordata grumbled something about motivation as he left. Roman seemed down a bit, too.

Was it bad that Virgil felt happy about that? Maybe. He tried not to be. 

He failed completely in that endeavor, even as he was doing weird handstand pushups while everyone stared at him and whispered, but it was the thought that counted, right? 

He hoped it was. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of boys clustered in the corner of the gym, cheering and chattering. He hung back to see what was going on. 

Roman did the same. He perked up, the group parted like a current around a sharp rock, and by the entrance Virgil sucked in a breath.

Two boys were using their practice swords to demolish a makeshift doll constructed out of a heap of pillows stuffed inside an old shirt, the sleeves held upright with sticks. Stabbing and slashing and hitting relentlessly even as it collapsed to the floor with its stuffing hanging out. A doll with purple yarn on its head too dark to be princely and a scowl drawn on with ink.

A doll that looked like him.

Laughing, Roman looked up and caught his eye. Virgil couldn’t hide his expression (hurt, horrified,  _ terrified, what would they do to  _ him– _ ) _ and Roman’s face fell. 

Virgil left quickly, ducking into the hall and trying to get his breathing under control,  _ was this a panic attack where was his air what were five things he saw walls boots doors _ a sliver of Roman taking out his katana and cutting the doll in half, feathers exploding like a geyser as he briskly strode out of the Groom Room, leaving the boys speechless.

Virgil pressed his hands to his eyes. Inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight, inhale for  _ four seconds— _

Lunch. When Lunch came, he could see Dolos and vent about his horrible, horrible day, and Dolos would pull him into a hug and pat him on the back and tell him it would be fine. 

It’d be fine. 

He popped out of the tree tunnel and grabbed his picnic basket from a nymph, swishing himself down under a tree. The rumors were spreading like spilled water on a tablecloth—he could practically see the words dripping from person to person as they all, one by one, at some point, turned to stare and point and whisper.

A lime-green bob of hair sat itself down next to him. “I heard what happened,” it said sympathetically.

“Yeah, you and everyone else.” Virgil flicked the napkin over his basket onto the ground and found a covered bowl of soup. It was warm against his fingers. Talyn slid an arm around his neck. 

“Word spreads.” They picked a lavender-colored square and bit into it, sending him a wink. “Dessert first, I love petit fours.”

He didn’t respond. The soup tasted good, kind of sweet and spicy and a bit bitter. Like the color orange, if colors had flavors. “I think Ethann hates me.”

“It seems that way, yeah. He’s missing out—you’re awesome.”

Virgil stiffened and almost choked on his soup. Virgil? Awesome? No, no, they were wrong, he was anything but. He was a horrible, terrible witch, not something to be complimented. He peeked at them out of the corner of his eye—they looked perfectly nonchalant. Like they hadn’t just spewed a complete and utter lie. Weird. Unsettling. “Oh, uh, I’m, really not—”

“Don’t say that,” they pouted.

“Right. Sorry.” Why not? It was the truth. But Talyn looked oddly angry, so Virgil just sipped at his soup (it was too hot and burned his tongue) and kept quiet.

“Attention, please, students!”

Virgil jerked and nearly spilled his soup. Dean Picani was standing on a stump, a man in a black, shiny jacket and tinted glasses next to him. Dean Remy, then. 

“Shut  _ up _ , you whiny frayed shoelaces.” The voice confirmed it—sassy and sarcastic and drawling. Dean Remy. 

“We’re sorry for interrupting your meals—”

“Speak for yourself,” Remy muttered. Picani shot him an exasperated look.

“There have been some… concerning rumors lately that we’d like to address.”

Talyn’s fingers dug soothingly into his tense shoulder. His face heated up (so many people were  _ looking at him _ ) and spread pink across his cheekbones, even as Talyn snarled at the people watching. Even though ducking his head behind his bangs wouldn’t do anything to stop the stares, he did it anyway. 

“First off,” Picani began, “Evil still has the power to defeat Good. There is no curse on Evil, I believe, despite Evil’s recent…”

“Losing streak?” Remy snorted into a glass of some sort of iced coffee. “Constant failure? Inevitable doom?”

“Track record,” Picani finished, giving Remy another look, this one less  _ I didn’t expect anything less but I still had hope _ and a more pleading  _ please behave for once? _   


“Second, the School Master is on nobody’s side,” Picani said. Virgil shifted uncomfortably, Talyn pulling him closer to their side. At least he had Talyn, and Dolos when he got there.

“How do you know?” a Never yelled, his voice faint all the way across the Clearing but loud in the quiet of Picani’s announcement.

“We have proof.” Virgil squinted his eyes. September Aldin, the history professor? What did he know? 

“What proof?” An Ever—Charlie, Virgil remembered. 

“You guys are smart!” Picani clapped like a teenage girl, cooing a bit (Remy mumbled, “I wonder sometimes”). “You’ll figure it out.”

Was the proof the answer? But—no, that wasn’t right. That was the opposite of what they needed. They needed the reason why Good and Evil were  _ different _ , not how they had the Schoolmaster in common.

“Finally,” Remy said, raising up a finger.

Somebody grabbed Virgil’s arm. If he’d still been holding his soup he would have spilled it again; Dolos had appeared, his clothes coated in foul smelling dust.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I—” But Virgil didn’t finish—Remy was speaking again.

“The Schoolmaster, first and foremost, is here to protect the Storian.” Now that Dolos was here he’d know what happened in Niel’s classroom—he’d know how—how—he’d know. Virgil was  _ unprincely _ in there. Dolos would know and—he’d be mad. “Therefore, he keeps himself locked up in that tower you see over there and never comes out.”

“So,” Picani said, “I am sorry to say that it is impossible for any student to have seen him. Regardless of any rumors you might have heard.”

The Evers turned to him immediately. Virgil hid behind Dolos, clutching the hand around his arm.

“What did you  _ do _ ?” That angry tone, the voice, Virgil hated that voice and he hated that face, with the eyebrows drawn together and the mouth turned down in a snarl and the eyes, oh the eyes, they were so  _ angry  _ and  _ disappointed _ and  _ disgusted _ . 

“I didn’t mean to.” Dolos had to believe him. “I didn’t—it was an accident.”

“According to gossip Professor Niel interrogated him,” Talyn said, sounding—why did they sound so annoyed? “It was brutal. Virgil asked a question about the difference between Good and Evil and he got yelled at in return. You really shouldn’t be so harsh with him. You’re not being a very good friend.”

No, no they shouldn’t say that, they  _ shouldn’t say that. _

“Virgil is _my_ friend! I know how to treat him. Stop butting in where you don’t belong, especially if you have nothing helpful to say, okay? He doesn’t need you, and I certainly don’t want some peasant interacting with him if you want to try and undermine his closest, _best_ _friend_.”

Dolos was an amazing friend, Dolos was his only friend,  _ Dolos had been right _ , Dolos, no, Talyn was wrong, they had to be wrong, that wasn’t what was happening they were  _ wrong _ , no, no that wasn’t it, “It’s—it’s fine,” he mumbled, prying them away from him. “Dolos is just being overprotective. You don’t have to—you shouldn’t—you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Talyn spat. When he said nothing, they snatched up their stuff and stalked somewhere else, leaving Virgil with Dolos  _ why did they leave him, no, come back— _

“You didn’t have to be so mean,” Virgil said, suddenly feeling cold. Dolos put his own arm around Virgil’s shoulders. It felt different. Heavier. 

“Now I  _ know _ something’s fishy about her,” Dolos muttered, accepting Virgil’s picnic basket and retrieving the second bowl. Her. Dolos called them her. 

That wasn’t right.

“They—she really isn’t as bad as you think they—she—she is.”

“Joan, a Never, had the same thoughts about what he wanted to be called,” Dolos said. “And Joan is  _ Evil _ .”

Talyn? Evil? Never, never. They—she—but—

“R-right. Right. Of course.” Virgil hesitated. “You—really think she—they—she’s that—bad?”

“Virgil, the first thing she did was try and separate us,” Dolos huffed. “You’re in a new environment that you kind of stick out in and she tried to pull you away from your only friend.”

That—true. True, that was true. Virgil was unsafe here and she—they—tried to make it worse. Dolos always spoke the truth, Dolos would never lie to him. Right.

“I have—I have Patton, too.”

“Do you really?” 

Did he really? He just met Patton. How did he know Patton was his friend, that he’d be as loyal, as  _ kind _ as Dolos? How did he know Patton wouldn’t leave the minute Virgil revealed how  _ awful _ he was? 

“It’s okay, Virgil. You still have me.” 

Virgil would always have him. A constant, reliable presence. 

Everything would be fine as long as he had him.

“Ri-yeah.” Virgil leaned back, resting his head on Dolos’ shoulder. He could feel his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks.”

He wanted to stay in this moment forever.

But- oh yeah, Gavaldon. “Have you had any luck with the riddle?”

“Nope. You?”

Virgil picked up his soup again, almost laughing. “Guess.” He pulled his arms around his legs. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

The bell was the only thing to answer his question. He grabbed his things slowly, a fairy buzzing over his head to collect his basket. “I’ll… see you later.”

Why wasn’t Dolos talking to him? 

Had he done something wrong?

History of Heroes was near-sleep inducing. Aldin had picked Briar Rose, a story Virgil had read over and over and over again in Gavaldon and thus knew everything about. He remembered all the crossover chapters with Snow White and Cinderella, he remembered the context and history and all the names of the fairies who lived with her. 

He almost fell asleep and certainly missed asking Aldin his question. Dolos would be mad at him if he ever found out.

He’d just... never tell Dolos.

Virgil actually liked Good Deeds. Picani was nice. Picani was  _ Good _ . Picani wouldn’t force Virgil to the front of the classroom, however justified it might be. He tucked himself into his spot next to the wall and tried not to look Picani in the eye.

“Virgil?”

Drat. 

“Y-yes, sir?”

Virgil loved Picani’s laugh. It reminded him of Patton’s, kind of a high-pitched, gentle giggle. Genuine, not mocking. Not like Ethann’s.

Picani covered his mouth with his hand. “No, no need to call me ‘sir,’ Virgil. I just wanted to…” he sighed out a deep breath, shuffling some papers around on his desk. “Apologise for the attention put on you today.”

“Oh.” He was… apologising? “Um, don’t worry about it, it’s fine—”

“No, Virgil, it’s not.” Picani unfolded himself from his chair. Virgil loved his smile, too. More people should smile like him. “It was never our intention to put that kind of spotlight on you, and I’m truly sorry for it. You’d be perfectly justified in feeling uncomfortable or resentful for the rumors around you now and mad at me for creating them, however unintentional it was. In fact, I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

Virgil could never be mad at Dean Picani. “I’m… not.”

“Really? Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?” Picani pulled out a chair from a front-row desk and sat himself down in it, relaxing his shoulders. Virgil recognized what he was doing—keeping a good distance between them, sitting down so he didn’t look intimidating and bigger, staying away from the door—giving Virgil space and a way out. Trying not to spook him.

If Virgil was Dolos, he’d be offended. But, as Virgil was not, in fact, Dolos, he appreciated it. He worried a splinter from his desk between his fingers. “I… messed up, in Professor Niel’s class. People were curious and that was dangerous and you reacted the way you should. I shouldn’t—I’m  _ not _ mad about that.”

“It’d be okay if you were.” Picani leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Virgil looked up as well. Chatter from the hallway outside the door. Drafts blowing into the room from the vents. Fairies humming out the window. This was nice. 

“It’d be unreasonable.”

“Emotions are like that, sometimes.

Virgil opened his mouth, but… he didn’t really have a response to that. He closed it again.

Picani shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his pink tie, his lips quirked up into just a hint of a smile. Somehow, even diminished, it managed to calm Virgil down. He stood up and turned to make his way back to his own desk. “Well, I hope you know that I don’t think you’re a liar. I disagree with some of the Schoolmaster’s methods, actually. Highly… highly disagree. If you ever need help, you can always come to me, okay?”

“What’s one thing Evil can’t have but Good can’t do without?” Virgil blurted.

Picani twirled around, tapping his finger on his chin to stroke an imaginary beard. “Well, that is a tricky one! Hmmm…” he hummed for a near-cartoonish amount of time, spinning around in his chair, and Virgil nearly laughed. Picani’s eyes twinkled—he knew exactly what he was doing. He stuck his finger in the air and proclaimed, “I have to say there isn’t a clear answer here! I’d recommend you look through some history books, maybe check out September’s ‘Gallery of Good’ near the theatre. He has one for Evil as well, though, of course, I’m in no way suggesting you sneak to the other school.’

The bell rang, and the door opened, breaking their carefully-crafted, safe silence. Virgil shrank into his chair and Picani went back to his papers. 

Good Deeds. What makes a hero. What makes a villain. Virgil paid attention to this. Picani, currently, was discussing smaller things, though, like the difference between selfishness and self care and flirting and harassment. Stuff Virgil, at least, he thought, already knew. He kept his focus riveted on the discussion, though, because it was respectful to listen and Picani deserved his respect. 

Surviving Fairy Tales was next. Good, good. Virgil ran a hand through his hair as he stumbled down Good’s hallways. Dolos would be there, Dolos would help him, Dolos  _ always _ helped him. Maybe he’d been able to figure something out. He’d always had.

He quickly located the huge “4” hoisted on Chir’s shoulder and Dolos sulking underneath it. A quick glance and—yes, that was Roman. Roman shot him a glare and stepped away to talk (flirt) with Delilah. Virgil slid next to Dolos and waited for the others.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“You  _ insulted Prince Roman _ ?” Dolos only hissed, taking on almost a look of betrayal when Virgil nodded.

“I… it slipped out.”

When Dolos stared at him Virgil could only look away. What was he supposed to do? He messed up, he knew he messed up. He didn’t  _ mean _ to. He never meant to.

At least, not at first.

“Right!” Chir bellowed, making the other groups startle and (in some cases) swear. “Group four, this way!”

Why wasn’t Dolos talking to him? Why wouldn’t Dolos say anything? Virgil tucked his hands inside his pockets and missed his big, comforting cloak, instead inspecting the blue life around them.

He couldn’t stop feeling unsettled. He always did when Dolos ignored him.

Chir stopped in the clearing of stumps and stabbed the sign into the ground. “Right.” Virgil straightened. “As pretty much none of you managed to fake the other side’s mannerisms  _ last _ exercise, we’ll be trying again today.” Chir wrote out the rules in the air once more, still speaking. “Of course, the entire reason you’re at this School is precisely because you exhibited your own side’s rules at the highest level, so this makes sense.” He grumbled the words like it was an inconvenience that they had been chosen. “This time, we’ll put you at recognizing Good and Evil. To do so, we’ll disguise an Ever and a Never into the same beast. Whoever correctly identifies the Good student and the Evil student the fastest will win highest rank and the slowest will come in last.” 

Virgil ran his eyes down the list again. The Evil  _ attack, punish, hurt, take, hate _ … did he really do those things? Did everybody really think he did that? Was he really that bad? He glanced at Dolos,  _ please tell them he wasn’t _ —but Dolos was speaking with Roman and Delilah, and a wall made of the others in their twenty blocked him from reaching him. 

Of course he was. After all, that’s why everyone laughed and jeered and made fun of him all the time. Why had he thought any differently?

Virgil strained his ears to hear as Chir picked out Edward and a Neverboy with hunched over shoulders and a beak-like nose. 

Virgil couldn’t catch any of Roman and Dolos’ conversation. But he saw Delilah reach out to touch Dolos on the shoulder and Roman winked and Dolos laughed and  _ why did that hurt so much _ ?

His chest tightened uncomfortably.

Some Nevergirl with wormy hair and scrawny limbs volunteered to go first, tying a ragged blindfold around her eyes. Chir jabbed his stick at Edward and the Neverboy (Vultoor, he said), and, writhing, they shriveled and shrank and melted into their skin until two identical snakes emerged from the heap of clothes. Gert, her name was, whipped off her blindfold and stared dumbly.

“So…?” Chir prompted.

Gert raised her hands, blank-faced. “They look the same.”

“Test them!” Chir waved his hands at the rules still burning in the air and Gert’s eyebrows raised.

“Like—”

“Just do it!”

“Fine, fine.” Gert knelt down on the ground, the two snakes observing her quietly. “Blink twice if you’re Evil.”

“Next,” Chir groused.

A cheerful Nevergirl went next, with Delilah and Gert as unicorns. But then one started copying the other and vice versa until they both were dancing around like a weird game of Simon Says. The Nevergirl (Quill, Chir said) tilted her head, reached out, and turned the nearest leaf chocolate. “Um.”

“Rule  _ four _ !” Chir barked. “The Evil  _ take _ , the Good  _ give _ ! Who started it?”

“Oh. I don’t know.”

“Next!”

Leo and a blue-skinned Neverboy (Sei) were turned into lizards and spent the allotted time staring at each other. Ravan picked Leo as Good but Sei had disappeared into the blue undergrowth, and the lesson had to be put on hold to find him.

Jamahl and Valerie confused Vix by being turned into birds and squawking at each other for the entire time, even though Vix correctly identified Valerie as Good after a good five minutes. Groo (a Neverboy with bark for skin) and Adri, a wild-haired girl Talyn said once was an ace at Animal Communication, were immediately picked out by Sei, the lizard boy, since Adri started examining herself once she was turned into a badger and wouldn’t stop while Groo just sat there. 

“Getting better,” Chir mumbled, searching his list of names. “Who wants to be transformed for Roman?”

All the Evergirls’ hands went up. Roman waved at them. 

“You two haven’t gone.” And of course Chir pointed at him and Dolos. Virgil shuffled forward, Dolos exchanging some last words with Roman. He didn’t look at Virgil. Virgil looked away.

Why did everybody say trying new things was fun? He highly disagreed. If you tried new things you might end up gradually growing shorter as your skin tingled and itched and shimmied on your bones as your form cracked and broke and refused and everything  _ hurt _ and you didn’t know what was going on and then suddenly you were a pair of short, scaly drakes and your hands weren’t hands anymore and your legs were different and Dolos refused to look at you.

Virgil hated this new thing. They brought about unpredictable changes that you were most likely going to hate a good portion of the time. 

Roman mockingly stroked his face. The Dolos-Drake nodded at him and leisurely began pacing circles around Virgil.

“Please talk to me?” Virgil asked. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I messed up.” Maybe now Dolos would listen to listen to him.

“Shut up,” Dolos muttered from bared, sharp drake teeth. 

“I really am sorry!” Virgil pushed, blocking Dolos’ rapidly growing track of pressed bluegrass. “You don’t have to accept it o-or forgive me” and what would Virgil do if Dolos didn’t? “But please, just say something?”

Dolos shoved his face in Virgil’s and Virgil cowered down, keenly aware of how much he looked like a cowed dog. “ _ Stop _ it. Not now.”

Virgil slunk away to watch from a distance as Dolos preened for Roman, splaying the scales around the drake’s neck and posing. Something in Virgil ruffled seeing it, but he pushed it down. Dolos had the right to do whatever he wanted,  _ especially _ here and now, after Virgil—

“That one,” Roman said, and pointed…

Straight at Virgil.

Wha-

“That’s the Good one, I can feel it.”

A beat. A pause. Dolos whirled around, his forked tongue licking in and out of his drake mouth. “ _ What _ ,” he hissed.

_ What _ , Virgil’s mind echoed. He put a hand—claw—up and shook his head emphatically. “No, Dolos, I didn’t mean to—”

Dolos stiffly looked away. Chir waved his stick and Virgil grew, his bones cracking and shifting and—man did it feel good to be human again.

But that comfort didn’t last for long.

“Correct. Record time. Next!”

Roman sputtered. “But—not— it’s Dolos! Not the witch! Dolos is the Good one!”

“ _ Next _ ,” Chir repeated, and Virgil scurried out of a snake-haired Nevergirl’s way.

“Dolos—” but Dolos turned away, joining Roman and Delilah with the Evers as Virgil was enclosed with the Nevers.

He wasn’t a  _ witch _ . He stared at his hands and shoved them in his pockets. He wasn’t a prince. Dolos was the prince, Dolos was the Good one, and Dolos was the one who’d get them all out of here. 

Besides, Virgil had  _ taken _ Dolos’ spotlight, his chance to be declared Good instead of Evil. And only the Evil  _ take _ .

But… But the Good  _ forgive _ . 

Dolos hadn’t forgiven. Dolos hadn’t been chosen as Good. 

Virgil had.

_ Mistake mistake mistake mistake MISTAKE— _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I love chapter 12 with all of my being that isn’t already dedicated to sunshine, daisies, butter mellow (turn this stupid, fat rat yellow) or sleep (Caellie's note: or thinking of ways to bring angst to your characters). Why? Many reasons! Talyn and Patton are realizing Something’s Up, Dolos is being a slimy snake boi (and I love him for it), we get to see the first signs of Virgil being Roman’s soulmate or whatever (technically being Pure Good but yeah no I like soulmate better), it’s awesome and I love it.  
> Also! Ethann. Ethann is a JERK and it’s amazing (C: It sure is, especially when you wanna deck him for it). I remember my first venturing into a brick and mortar classroom, all nervous and anxiety-riddled (homeschooling made me a Gifted Kid, not a Socially Adept Kid) and essentially channeled those feelings into Virgil in chapter… eight? Yeah. Eight. In chapter 12 all my worst nightmares about going to class came true and I funneled all my anxiety into the scene.  
> It was actually really therapeutic.  
> Anyway. Ethann is everything I was worried about walking into that classroom. I actually had a really nice experience in my first in-person class. Virgil is what would have happened had that gone wrong. Horribly wrong. (C: But it didn’t! Glad it went well though, that’s for sure) Ethann is the worst and I love it because, hey, character growth time! Virgil’s going to be a slippery smooth piece of sea glass someday, but right now I need to slam him against some rocks and half-drown him to get to that point. (C: … fair enough)  
> To be honest, it’s more fun than I’d thought.  
> Caellie's probably going to be enraged some more, though. She was going over it and finished Ethann's scene and messaged me, and I quote, "i wanna kill ethann. oh, and roman. you might have to stop me from annihilating them". Also that is a jerk (she used other words, of course) and "ETHANN can shove his ARROGANT, POMPOUS ATTITUDE sOMEWHERE ELSE".  
> So I think I did a fairly good job.  
> By the way, I’m terribly sorry if the classroom scene was triggering in any way for any of you. Please, let me know, and I’ll talk to Caellie about setting up a warning system. (C: Indeed!!)  
> So, what else?  
> Well, we've got a long way to go. A long, long way to go. I’m anticipating maybe 26, 27 chapters total for part one, and, well, this is chapter 12. But we pick up and go faster at around ch. 15, so don’t worry! We’re getting there!  
> Um…  
> Well, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you have the best day of your week! Thanks for reading!  
> —Vaye


	13. Escape Attempt #1 (Spoilers: It Goes Horribly Wrong)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Hello!! How are you? Good? Great! Normally we don’t do beginning notes here at Was This a Good Idea? Probably Not., unless there’s something important to announce story-wise (like character name changes or such), but we have exciting news!  
> GUYS. WE HAVE FANART.  
> The “sweet, and good, and pure, and happy, and wholesome, and sweet, and lovely, and I'm running out of things to say” (Moving On Part 1/2: Exploring Nostalgia) Louto made us fanart like the amazing person they are and LOOK AT IT (if you can, Caellie and I don't know how to put pictures into AO3 and it was submitted as a PDF so we honestly have no idea what we're doing but it's so cool looking we don't care!)!
> 
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/1sfvn2utsaRO5kcJC7UxW677aNSqtxxdO/view?usp=sharing 
> 
> It’s so _pretty_! Look at the little lightning strikes in the background and Dolos’ collar pin that _looks like a snake just like him guys they match that’s awesome_ and Virgil’s EXPRESSION and the fire guys the fire it’s crackly for Dolos and green and Roman’s is so flamboyant and Virgil’s in the middle where he belongs and his hair!! It’s so cool!! And look at the swans! And the words at the top the S in SGE has a _snake tongue_ and it's _adorable_ and the bushes! And the castles! There are castles behind them and the faces! I mentioned Virgil’s expression before but look CLOSER! The bags under Virgil’s eyes and Roman looks so happy and earnest and Dolos looks slimy and do you see the green on his cheeks it’s fabulous because it’s there but not fully there and it’s subtle and that’s amazing and he’s on Virgil’s left and Roman is on his right and it’s like a Devil-Angel thing and that’s just awesome and—look at Roman’s tassels! And the stitching on Dolos’ tunic! _AND THE LITTLE HAIR FLOOFS YOU GUYS THE HAIR FLOOFS—_  
>  So I’m pretty excited about this. Caellie is too, of course, but she’s a bit sleep-deprived and, in her own words, “[my, Vaye’s] enthusiasm is much more than what sleep deprived [she, Caellie] can do.” Which is understandable and so I’m here representing us both! I should wrap this up, we have to get to the chapter.  
> Long story short, Louto is a fantastic and talented artist who decided to gift us with their time and effort and this awesome piece of art and we appreciate it and you should, too! I hope you enjoy the chapter (and forget about how long it took to be posted and how short it is) and the art (we did!)!

Logan wasn’t talking to Dolos, and he didn’t understand  _ why _ . He got why Joan refused to speak to him (even though it was such a stupid reason, but then again, Joan wasn’t very smart himself), but Logan? Logan wasn’t supposed to be affected by whatever Dolos had said about henchmen. Logan was a villain. A top-tier villain who shouldn’t care about his minion getting offended. So what was his  _ deal? _

Because Dolos still found himself sitting in Curses and Death Traps in a group with Joan and Logan and being forced out of participating due to spite and petty grudges and Logan should have been beyond that. He had  _ many _ ideas on how to complete this task—killing a group of centaurs sent by the king to hunt you down being one of them—but Logan and Joan were completely ignoring him. He didn’t like this. At all.

“If we ambush them, we’d never have to deal with them again  _ and _ we’d send a message to the king,” Joan said. “Easy.”

Dolos frowned down at their map. That could go wrong in so many ways… No. It was too risky. “Or we could talk to them.”

Logan ignored him, pushing at the group of ice cubes that were supposed to represent the centaurs. “If we attack them outright, they could kill us. We should lure them into a trap.”

“—but if we do that, then they could escape, killing them would be immediate—”

“—but risky, so we should try to contain them instead; plus, centaurs are family-oriented, we could use them as hostages—”

“—but if we killed them, the king would know we mean business, he might not believe we’d kill the centaurs—”

Joan’s ideas were almost always shot down  _ and yet _ Logan was still letting him ( _ him him him HIM) _ say them. Why? They weren’t very good. Logan was the villain. Logan was in charge. Shouldn’t Logan be… shutting him down? 

But Logan wasn’t. 

And Dolos didn’t understand why. Wasn’t Logan the one giving orders around here? 

The centaurs were inevitably led into a trap. Logan’s idea. Logan herded them into a canyon and stuck them there and earned top rank. Dolos sat there with his wooden “18” that squeaked and tried to run away, unheard, unlistened to, and  _ neglected _ . He scowled at it. Lost points because Logan wouldn’t listen to him and it was  _ stupid _ .

This wouldn’t have  _ happened _ if he had just  _ listened to him! _

“Dolos!” 

Dolos was  _ not _ sulking. He glowered- that was a good word for it- at Remy, hand on the icy doorknob and fingers slowly being frozen off. “What?” He didn’t need to ask what, he already knew–Remy was going to ask him to stay behind and then lecture him. 

What a wonderful day this was turning out to be.

“Stay here for a hot sec, I wanna talk to you.”

Yep. Knew it. Dolos let go of the door (it scraped against the floor) and shoved his hands into his grimy, lint-filled pockets. Remy glanced up from his papers and sighed, but didn’t ask him to come any further. That was something, at least.

“So, that riddle, you got an answer?” Dolos hesitated—but Remy just waved a hand. “Nevermind, I can already tell by your face. So, like, I personally have no idea, but maybe look in a fairytale or something? Or maybe visit Aldin’s museum? History will help. Emile told the purp man earlier, so I figured you should know too.”

Dolos couldn’t help but twist his face into a grimace. There were so many things wrong with that statement that he could barely count them all. “Okay, one, his hair is horrible and everyone knows that, so don’t bother being nice about it. Two, why’d you tell Virgil at all? You could’ve just told me, I would’ve told him at lunch.”

Remy raised an eyebrow behind his glasses and took a slurp of coffee that grated on Dolos’ ears. “His hair is amazing.”

“It’s too dark.”

“It suits him well.”

“No, it doesn’t! You’ll inflate his ego if he hears you say that.”

Remy looked like he wanted to add something to that, but decided not to. He just dropped his glass onto the floor and didn’t even flinch at the shatter, instead speaking over Dolos’ yelp. “I’m not even going to bother addressing  _ that _ mess. Virgil’s part of this duo too, he deserves to know this just as much as you do without relying on you to give him information. Okay? Cool. See you later, hater.”

_ “See you later, hater” _ ? Who uses that nowadays? Dolos wanted to argue further  _ (yeah sure but it’d be more convenient, plus Virgil didn’t deserve to know, he wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway - he wasn’t the leader, he was a witch, that wasn’t how it worked-) _ but it was a clear dismissal. Pulling open the door again, he skulked out into the hallway, buffeted by lines of students heading to their next class.

But no, right in front of him and–he glanced over his shoulder–right behind him, Joan and Logan. They’d left so much earlier—had they been waiting for him? Just to keep an eye on him?

Sooner or later, he was going to clock Logan square in the face.

  
  
  


Joan glared at him throughout henchman training but didn’t speak to him. Was this the universe punishing him for not speaking to Virgil? Unfair. Dolos had done nothing. Virgil deserved it; he’d deceived Roman into thinking he was a prince and that was a crime of the highest order.  _ Dolos had done nothing _ .

Geez, he’d think everyone here thought he was evil or something. 

_ Oh wait. They did _ . 

Uglification passed with similar results. They were making fake warts out of hard, chalky clay and watery glue that he swore he saw move once in the corner of his eye. Logan sat right next to him this time, molding uniform blobs of clay into a nice little line right in front of him. Dolos glared. “Pass the glue.”

Logan glanced at him, eyes glowing blue, and wordlessly passed him the gray glue.

“I need the  _ white glue _ ,” Dolos gritted. Honestly, they could at least get that right. “Or can you not see that with your future vision?”

“I see probabilities,” Logan said, switching out the glues. “Not the future. I sift through each one and pick the most likely outcome. I did not foresee you using white glue. You have used a pattern of white-gray-white-black-black-gray this entire time and are on your first black. You should not have needed white for another two dabs.”

Dolos almost dropped his paintbrush spotted with black glue. “Freak.”

“Villain.”

“I’m  _ not a villain _ .”

“I’m merely stating the most likely outcome,” Logan said, and Dolos hated how calm he sounded. “Facts. Statements supported with reliable evidence.”

“Go throw yourself off the bridge.”

“Noted.”

“Boys! Pay attention!” Prof. Han demanded. Logan waved a hand and went back to his molding. Dolos smeared white over his wart and set it aside, reaching for the clay again. 

Dolos was only able to maintain that silence for maybe about a minute; he didn’t care whether they were quiet or not. “So, what, are you talking to me again?”

Logan shot him a questioning look. “I never stopped.”

The day Dolos was going to punch Logan was ticking closer. He could feel it. “Yes, you did. You were ignoring me. Why.”

Logan picked up a pot of glue in each hand, his brow furrowed as he glanced between them. His eyes glowed again. “I was ignoring you out of consideration for Joan’s presence. Now that Joan is absent, I see no reason to continue. I have actually wanted to seek your opinion for quite a while.”

“Wait, really?” Dolos said. He almost dropped his clay.

Logan nodded. “Of course. I am quite interested in how you managed to reach the conclusion that people in supporting roles were to be dehumanized and used as tools, particularly since I see no evidence to support that.” He cut a smile at Dolos that wasn’t cruel or sarcastic—just cold and calculating and near-terrifyingly… scientific. Inhuman. “Please, enlighten me.”

Dolos paused. Al… alright, then. “Well—I don’t mean they should be  _ dehumanized _ , first. They’re humans. They should be treated like such. But… ultimately, they’re pawns. They aren’t as important. I mean, isn’t  _ the plan _ the biggest thing to focus on? The henchmen are literally there to serve you, and I really don’t see why they can’t be treated as such. They’re there as sacrifices and the gross jobs and all the stuff you don’t have time for because they, apparently, didn’t get good enough grades—they had the chance to be better and they didn’t take it! If you treat them poorly, then that’s on them, isn’t it?”

Were people looking at them? Dolos couldn’t tell; he was staring intently at his wart  _ and wasn’t that a weird thing to think _ . 

Logan pursed his lips, holding up a lump of clay that looked exactly like his last six. His eyebrows quivered, and it seemed like he was fighting a scowl. “Thank you for your opinion, Dolos. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“CLASS DISMISSED!” Han bellowed, and Logan vanished into the crowds. Jerk.

Lunch next. Lunch next, and Dolos still had no idea about the riddle. 

Did they even need the riddle to leave? Or was this just a waste of time?

  
  
  


“Let’s just go.”

Virgil’s eyes were red when he looked up. Had he been crying? Did Dolos do that? Whatever, it didn’t matter. “G-go?”

Talyn lingered at a distance. She whispered with a round-faced, bespectacled boy underneath a tree, their faces scrunched up in… worry? Concern? Dolos didn’t like that. He shifted Virgil closer, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s just leave,” he whispered. “This school has gates, doesn’t it? At the back of the blue woods. Can’t we just walk out of them?”

“They’re locked, aren’t they?” Virgil whispered back, his voice thick from—he  _ had _ been crying. Well, Dolos was talking to him now, wasn’t he? Virgil was sufficiently sorry. It was fine. 

He looked all wet and puffy now. “Hey,” Dolos murmured, wiping at Virgil’s red cheeks. “Crying isn’t princely.”

Virgil scrunched up his nose and tried in vain to scrub the stuffiness from his nose. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Virgil pulled his legs up to his chest but rested his chin on Dolos’ shoulder. “So, we just leave? Can we do that?”

“They can try and stop us.” Dolos pulled Virgil to his feet, leaving the picnic basket empty and abandoned on the floor. “Let’s go!”

Maybe this would make the Schoolmaster notice them. Maybe then he’d switch them even though they hadn’t solved his riddle.  _ Hey _ , Dolos wanted to shout up at that tower,  _ you can either switch us or have neither of us at all. Your choice! _

See what he made of _ that _ .

  
  
  


The gates lay at the back of the Blue Forest. Dolos had spotted them on their impromptu Stymph flight, a small dam holding back the waves of darkness and green. “If we’re from Woods Beyond,” Dolos said, standing in front of those big, big gates and trying to keep a hold on his roiling anxiety, “then Gavaldon must be somewhere beyond these woods, right? So then… we can just walk through them.”

“Don’t we need supplies? A sword? Some food?” Virgil asked, also staring up at those big gates. 

“We can find them in there, right? There must be other villages.”

“Right.”

But neither of them moved. 

Dolos wanted to. He really did. He commanded his legs to take a step forward with all his willpower and yet he stayed stuck on the ground, just looking at that big… big gate. Curled with thick vines straight out of a story book, the gates rose up from the sides of an imposing brick wall being slowly strangled to death by the plants. Thorny plants? He wasn’t sure. The gates pulled together into letters peeking out of the clutch of plantlife, but he couldn’t see what they were. He could climb them, though, and pick out a path to take.

Probably.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Virgil said.

Dolos jerked around. “What? Why not?” Out of character, sudden, random,  _ why now _ ?

“What if the vines have thorns?” Virgil fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “What if there’s an alarm system? What if we get killed? We don’t know where to go once we’re out of here, we don’t know how to get to that place we don’t know about, and we don’t have any supplies to get us there. We’re completely unprepared!”

“Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Virgil’s eyes were blown wide with fear. “Not like this. There are too many things that can go wrong, I…”

“ _ Coward _ ,” Dolos hissed.

Virgil stared at him. “What?”

Coward, weak, not even a witch, not even a prince,  _ how dare he _ , even if Logan wouldn’t keep Joan in his place Dolos wasn’t going to make the same mistake— “you’ve been at this school for  _ three _ days and you’re already going Bad. You’re being nice to weird people, you’re deceiving princes, you’re  _ running away _ . This is  _ not _ what I’ve taught you. Three days and you’re just throwing away all that we’ve worked on! Do you really think so little of it? Of  _ me? _ Are you just—throwing me  _ away _ the minute you have something better?” Like some old storybook that lost its color, like a broken toy that wasn’t cared about anyway, like some random  _ nobody _ —

This was exactly what Dolos feared.

“Dolos, no! I’m not—”

“Well you can stay here if you want,” Dolos spat, his eyes narrowing, his vision tunneling, his heart and head pounding, backing up. The vines seemed to quiver in anticipation. “Stay here with your fake friends who’d never want someone like  _ you, _ and I can go back to Gavaldon and tell them you were too much of a weak, needy  _ witch _ to escape.” 

“Dolos, no—!”

But Dolos had already taken off running. He pumped his legs as fast as he could and pushed off the first vine, clambering up and grabbing onto the first rung of the gate. Virgil yelled something. Dolos didn’t listen. He scrambled up the letters and hoisted himself over the next vine. The metal cut into his skin. He grabbed the top of the gate and swung himself over, planting his feet on the decorative metal engraving of two swans. 

He pushed off, plummeting toward the ground, anticipating the landing—

Something grabbed his ankle, sharp pinpricks drawing blood and lurching him to a stop. He dangled upside down, disoriented (“ _ Dolos!” _ Virgil yelled).

He’d been snagged by a vine. It bit into his skin, and he could feel something warm and sticky running up toward his knee as he dangled upside down. Pain, pain, painful, ow, he reached up and—

Virgil sat perched on top of the vine and was cutting through the tip with a knife he must have grabbed from lunch. His eyes were blown wide with fear. “Dolos, hang on—” he severed the vine but two others grabbed onto him and pulled him away. Dolos dropped again and hit the floor, his shoulder aching from the impact. He scrambled to his feet and dodged a vine aiming for his ankle.

“Dolos!” Virgil still clutched onto his knife but the two vines were wrestling it away from him. Dolos saw blood trickle down from his hands. “Dolos, help!”

He panicked for a few, awful seconds, his mind and heart racing for a solution,  _ think think think _ —and he was grabbed again, the vines big and thorny and painful and thick, and he dangled in the air and hit the ground as the vine slammed him down. 

And down again, repeatedly, until his head spun and dots danced in front of his vision. He couldn’t think. He just grit his teeth and tried not to scream. The vine flung him into the air, causing him to spin and land right back into its clutches.

A blue figure landed on the vine a few feet above him. Dolos squinted through his pain, the person’s jacket stained red, the knife covered in sticky green sap. Purple hair a shade too dark. Virgil?

“Virgil—”

Virgil looked down at him and Dolos cut himself off, blood matting that purple hair, his eyes still fearful.  _ Unprincely _ . Virgil stabbed his knife into the vine and grabbed onto its thorns as it tried to buck him off, Dolos swinging limply under. His shoulder ached. His head spun. He couldn’t think, could hardly breathe-

“ _ Stop! _ ”

The vines drooped. 

Dolos fell to the ground, hitting his elbow and shooting a flare of pain up to his already protesting shoulder. Virgil dropped lightly on his feet next to him but collapsed the rest of the way to the ground. A thin river of blood ran from his hair. He was panting for air.

_ What happened? _

A pink-haired cardigan-clad person knelt down, his hand drifting over Virgil’s head. “Hey, bud,” he said, “are you okay?”

“Mmm… no.”

_ Coward.  _

Picani looked up, this time at Dolos, “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dolos grunted, but his head hurt and his shoulder hurt and his fingers hurt (he landed on them once, he thought) and he could feel dried blood caking on his leg. He tried to prop himself up, but his arms couldn’t handle the weight and he fell back down. 

Emile hovered over Dolos anyway, waving somebody else over as Dolos failed to get up. Remy put a hand on Dolos’ shoulder and kept him down. “No.”

Dolos struggled still but couldn’t push past Remy’s hand. His body sagged against his will. 

Something Remy said from the first day of class came back to him.  _ “Maleficent… I remember her. I taught her that sleeping spell.” _

Beside him Virgil quietly submitted to Picani’s fussing, answering questions in a groggy, pained voice. 

“Okay, well, first things first,” Picani said after a while, “let’s get you inside. We can discuss what happened once you’re fixed up.”

Virgil let himself be helped up and Dolos, grudgingly, followed. Remy kept a firm grip on his arm as he half-carried him through the open gates, the vines lying peacefully about the walls. One of them slipped down, revealing the rest of the engraving. 

_ Try to escape, and you’ll always fail. _

_ The only way out is through a fairy tale. _

  
  
  


Remy’s office was directly across from the highest spire of Good Tower and much warmer than his classroom. He noticed Dolos blearily looking around and scoffed. “What? I’m still a human being, y’know. I’m not  _ all _ ice and gloom. Like, get a life.” 

There were a surprising amount of pillows, most of them with the cartoon versions of villains on them. There was a couch in the corner piled with blankets as well as some heavy curtains currently opened above the one, large window. Dolos saw a storm of fairies toting what looked like Picani and Virgil up to that tallest tower—must be where Picani’s office was. 

“So,” Remy said, slurping at his coffee. He swung himself into the padded chair behind the desk, pushing a picture frame face-down as he did so. An accident? Dolos couldn’t think about the possibilities right then and there. “I heard from Emile what happened.”

Already? “H-ow—”

“Fairies gossip,” Remy interrupted. Dolos snapped his mouth shut. “And so, apparently it was  _ your _ idea to try and leave the school.”

“So what if it was?”

“Do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?” Remy shattered his glass on the floor again, his eyebrows scrunching over his glasses. “You could’ve died. You could’ve killed Virgil. Virgil has a concussion and minor blood loss from what I heard, and I mean, it’s kind of all your fault. I want to know what you were thinking because that was the dumbest move I’d ever seen, and I’ve been around for a _long while_.”

“He didn’t  _ have _ to go after me,” Dolos grumped. He’d been doing fine on his own.

“Yes, he did. And you’re clearly not sorry about it.”

“I have nothing to be sorry about,” Dolos said, crossing his arms over his chest. Virgil made his own decisions, and he had nothing to do with it. Whatever Virgil decided to do, wasn’t on him.

Remy just stared at him. “R-ight. Sure, yeah, okay, this is kind of more Emile’s thing than mine. You totally need to talk to him by the way because,  _ girl, _ you have issues. Whatever, we can deal with that later. The fairies healed the worst of your injuries—”

Dolos vaguely remembered a cloud of fairies swarming around him as they floated up to Remy’s office, too. He didn’t remember them doing anything else—but there was a distinct lack of pain when he moved now. 

Huh. Guess they  _ were _ good for something.

“And even though I personally disagree with this since I think it teaches you  _ nothing _ , the technical protocol is to send you to the Doom Room,” Remy finished.

Dolos’ blood ran cold.

_ The room smelled like blood. _

“So off you go.” The doors opened behind them and two wolves grabbed Dolos’ arms. He was too frozen to struggle. “Have fun, I guess. Good luck. Sayonara.”

The wolves dragged Dolos out of the office backwards, giving him a clear view as Remy reclined in his chair and ran a tired hand through his hair, messing it up a bit.

He looked.. sad.

  
  
  
  


The Doom Room still reeked of blood. Blood and grime and sweat and something he didn’t want to put his finger on. He gagged, almost threw up, but didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t risk falling into the thick, red-tinted sludge running beside him. Of course the Doom Room was located in the sewers. Of  _ course _ . The wolves pulled open a wooden door hidden in a turn of the path and tossed him in. 

He hit the floor hard and pushed himself up. 

The beast appeared from the shadows. 

Dolos had heard of man-wolves. The Beast from Beauty and the Beast was rumored to have been one, stuck in his wolf form. The wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, of course. A few others that Dolos couldn’t name. They were big, hulking creatures with red eyes and hairy skin and strength that could rip a tree in half.

This beast was no different, it seemed. 

“You,” it snarled, “Dolos of Woods Beyond, have been summoned to the Doom Room on account of conspiring to commit an untruth, breaking of the Never Code, attempted murder of an Everboy—”

“ _ Murder? _ ” Dolos sputtered, but the beast ignored him.

“Destruction of school property, harassment of fellow students, general deception, manipulation without proper cause, and overall crimes against humanity.”

“I plead innocent to all charges,” Dolos muttered, “ _ especially _ the last one.”

The beast grabbed his chin and forced it up, claws digging into Dolos’ skin. “Guilty until proven innocent,” it hissed.

“You’ll leave marks,” Dolos protested, batting at the beast’s paw. “Honestly, I think this is all terribly unfair.”

“You committed a sin, and so you must receive punishment,” the beast said. Its voice was like nails on metal. 

Dolos couldn’t pry the beast’s paw off but he still tried to.  _ It could leave marks _ . “I did no such thing! The faculty is overreacting, really. It wasn’t that big a deal. If you let me go I could explain everything—” the beast began pushing him back and Dolos desperately scrabbled against the floor, “—please, I swear, I did nothing wrong! This is unjust, you have to see that!  _ Stop touching me you’re gonna leave— _ ”

“—marks, I know. It usually takes a beating to find the weak point,” the beast mused, his claws scraping against the walls. He pushed Dolos onto the floor and locked a shackle around his leg. It bit at his skin. “You gave it up immediately.”

“I don’t understand!” Dolos pleaded, trying to pull the metal away but just pinching his fingers; it was too tight. 

“You will.” The beast picked up an axe and set it aside.

“I can’t learn if you don’t tell me!”

“Villains don’t learn from being told.” A spear wouldn’t do either, apparently, and Dolos scooched back against the cold, wet floor. “They learn from  _ pain _ .”

“I’m not a villain!”

“Maybe you will be once you  look like one .” The beast whirled, and Dolos’s head smacked to the side, his cheek alight with something stinging and red and painful. He shrieked and clutched his cheek. His palm came away red.

Dolos knew what blood looked like. One time he got a bloody nose in the middle of a workout and wanted to finish before attending to it. By the time he was done his entire shirt was drenched in red and he carried the smell around the rest of the day. He hadn’t been bothered by it back then, a few years ago. 

The pain he felt now, though, the pain and the red dripping from his fingers, sticky and scarlet and so much brighter than he’d thought, made everything so much worse. Not to mention his previous injuries only enhanced what he felt now.

The beast unlocked the shackle and shoved him to the door. “Get out.” It pushed its way out of the Doom Room and crouched in front of the sludge, where the sewage turned clear. Dolos stepped out behind him and caught sight of his reflection.

Through the red dripping down his chin, three long, gaping gashes ran all the way from his ear to the corner of his mouth along the left side of his face. He scowled, pain creeping up the wound and crawling along his face like a spider. 

The beast crouched in front of him, washing the blood off its claws.

He lurched into the water and slipped in like a stone, clawing desperately to the surface—Dolos watched, impassive, as the beast tried to scrape to the bank again, and he watched, impassively, as the beast sank, gurgling, beneath the water.

Pushing him in had been easy. Too easy.

Whatever, he’d face any possible consequences later. If there were any.

He cleared away the blood on his face and washed his hands squeaky clean, swallowing the sick feeling in his throat.

_ The Good forgive, the Good forgive, the Good forgive _ —

It was only justice. 

And Justice, of course, was very princely. It was one of the core values

Dolos fixed the way his tunic sat on his shoulders and turned to leave the sewers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes:  
> Hello all~! We’re finally done with Chapter 13! Ohh boy, was this a wild ride.  
> Sorry for the long wait! Again, my bad TwT I’ll try to be more on time for the next chapter.  
> Some interesting things that happened this time around:  
> \- Originally, we were going to have Dolos’ punishment be his lips zipped shut, buuut that would interfere with the plotline. Besides, what we decided on was way more dramatic.  
> \- (Vaye: Technically the vines happen much later and the punishments are for, in Virgil/Agatha’s case, setting a tower on fire (which doesn’t happen in our version) and, I think, starting a riot for Sophie? I can’t remember. Anyway, I realized that since a lot of people reading haven’t read SGE I should explain why they can’t just leave.) Yeahh, good point. Otherwise, it would be too easy for the future generation of royalty and villains to escape.
> 
> If you thought this chapter was short, Chapter 15 will be a delight to enjoy! Next chapter will be roughly the same length, though. Regardless, it should be very fascinating to read.  
> If you’re still keeping up with this series, we thank you for your support! We really do appreciate any feedback y’all give us!  
> Hope you have a wonderful week, and we’ll see you with the next update!
> 
> ~~Caellie E


	14. Finally Virgil Found Some Happiness, We Were Wondering Where It’d All Got To (Personally, I Think It Was Dolos, But That’s Just My Opinion)

Picani wasn’t saying anything, and Virgil couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not, and that… never boded well for him.

When Dolos was angry, he yelled. He yelled, he lectured, he  _ harangued _ , and then  _ after  _ that, he went into radio silence. He’d make sure Virgil knew  _ exactly _ what he’d done to be ignored—heck, that had just happened mere hours before, when Virgil had tricked Roman into picking him. He was sure that now, after their argument, Dolos wouldn’t speak to him again, too.

Picani hadn’t yelled yet. Actually, he wasn’t saying anything at all, just sitting in an armchair in the corner of his office as fairies cleaned Virgil’s various scrapes and injuries (apparently he’d sprained his wrist and apparently he’d bruised two ribs and cracked a third and  _ apparently _ he’d broken three fingers but Virgil felt nothing because they were nothing and he was just making a big deal out of it because he hadn’t gotten hurt and Dolos hadn’t needed saving and the two didn’t relate in  _ any way _ ). 

Virgil shifted uncomfortably and the fairy, irked, rapped him on the forehead. “Ow.”

Picani glanced up and waved the fairies away (they remained hovering in the corner), lacing his fingers together on his knees. “So,” he prompted, “what happened?”

“I-I told you what happened,” Virgil muttered, picking at a freshly-placed bandage on his wrist. “On the way up.”

The fairy turned back and slapped at his fingers, pinching his nose when he wrinkled it and making a demanding face at Picani, who let it stay. Her stay? Him stay?  _ They _ stay? Virgil didn’t know. 

Dolos would say he didn’t need to know. 

“Yes,” Picani admitted, pulling out a notepad and a bright blue pencil, “but I’d like to hear it again, if you’re okay with that.”

So Virgil recounted how Dolos appeared at lunch, looking annoyed, and randomly decided that they should try leaving. He mentioned how he tried to stop Dolos—and was promptly cut off.

“Did Dolos listen to you at all?”

Virgil blinked, trying to remember. “Not-not really, but I mean…”

“But what?”

_ “you’re already going Bad—” _

_ “fake friends who’d never want someone like  _ you— _ ”  _

**_“_ ** _ Weak, needy,  _ **_witch—”_ **

“Does he have to? I don’t usually have anything important to add—I mean, he’s the smart, experienced one.” Virgil reached to readjust his bandage but redirected himself to his shirt hem at the last moment, the fairy letting out a smug chirp. “I don’t—I don’t blame him. For not listening to me.”

Picani examined him for a second. Then two. “Are you implying that he is… better than you, in some way?”

“Implying?” Virgil tilted his head. “No, I’m outright saying it. He’s the Good one.” How did Picani not see it? Wasn’t it already made obvious by  _ everything _ ? These people were weird, they didn’t see things clearly, they lied with every breath they weren’t oblivious with, but Virgil knew that already. “He’s smarter than me, he’s braver than me, he’s  _ better  _ than me, he’s given so much to help me when he didn’t have to, and…”

_ “Three days! Three days, and you’re just throwing away all that we’ve worked on! Do you think so little of it? Of me?” _

“Alright, then, if you say so.” Picani wrote something down and Virgil felt like he was being studied. “So you tried to convince him not to leave just yet, and he…?”

Virgil didn’t want to say he was yelled at. He didn’t want to say Dolos yelled at him, that’d paint a bad picture, but... lying was bad. “He… reminded me of what I said previously, um, a few seconds ago.”

Picani heard the underlined meaning underneath those words; Virgil could tell from the way he pressed his lips into a hard line and the way his pencil was making loud scratches as he scribbled in his notebook.

Virgil went over how he ran to help Dolos, hesitating over his words. Picani noticed. Virgil noticed Picani noticing and hovered his hands in the air, grasping at something to say—how to phrase this, how to phrase that… 

“Do you regret saving him?”

Virgil bit at the inside of his cheek. Ah, who cared about phrasing when this was already so awful to say. “A bit, yeah, I guess… Just- I don’t think I did much- I only made it worse…” He made everything worse. Why did he think this would be any different?

“Oh, on the contrary,” Picani said, “you effectively kept the vines busy until we got there. Without you, Dolos would probably be dead.”

Biting down so hard he drew blood, Virgil almost fell out of his chair.  _ What? _ “No, he’d be fine because he’s  _ Dolos _ . That’s what he does. He doesn’t need me—especially not for something like  _ living _ .”

Picani began to refute that but shook his head and wrote something down instead. “Well, I’d love to speak with you some more, but unfortunately I do have some… bad.. news.” Picani didn’t give him a chance to respond or even feel anxious about it, even though Virgil could tell he wasn’t sure how to continue. He appreciated that. A badly-worded message was preferable to a generalization and a moment of silence. “Because you did try to leave the school, which is against the rules, as well as missed class, leading to a third ‘20’, you do have grounds for punishment. A frankly surprising amount of teachers, particularly one Ethann Niel, are advocating for it—don’t know what they’d have against you—or, at least they were when Remy and I were on our way.”

Virgil stiffened in his chair. Crap. Trouble.  _ Danger. _

“No, no, you’re not being failed,” Picani said quickly. “The Schoolmaster interfered with a lesser punishment—house arrest, essentially. Well, technically room arrest. I didn’t want you punished at all—I don’t think you did anything wrong. But this, plus your alleged ‘lies’, and your injuries, and your low ranks… all of the staff, including the Schoolmaster, think it would be better if you spent the time recovering and catching up on your homework. Luphel informed me you have private lessons tomorrow—you’d do those, of course, in your room. Your two roommates would be allowed to stay and you can have visitors. Nothing would change, really; you may even be more comfortable than before.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed a tiny fraction. “Al-alright.” That was definitely better than failing, dying, and turning into a name on a bronze sign. Picani patted him on the shoulder and waved him to the door. 

A wolf stood nearby, apparently waiting for him in the hallway, grasped his wrist with more gentleness than Virgil would have expected and escorted him down the tower. The fairy followed them, perched on the wolf’s head and biting Virgil’s ear whenever he made a move towards one of his bandages.

The walk was dead silent with the exception of the sound of them walking. Could the wolves here even talk? They didn’t pass anybody in the glass hallways, but he heard voices in classrooms. Echoing, their footsteps scattered out around them, reflecting off the pink glass, they journeyed down Charity’s staircase and stepped up Honor’s, walking among carvings of heroes stabbing dragons. 

“Why is everyone being so nice to me?” Virgil said, before he realized he had even opened his mouth.

The fairy moved onto his head for easier access to his ear as the wolf looked at him curiously. Virgil’s cheeks colored. “I—sorry. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

The wolf just grunted and Virgil managed to walk in silence for a few more steps, the emptiness and the echoes getting to his mind.  _ Weak, needy, witch, weak, needy, witch, weak, needy, witch, weak, needy, witch, COWARD _ — “I just don’t get it,” he burst. The fairy pulled at his hair, startled. “They shouldn’t be so kind to me. I’m…” So many ways he could finish that sentence. 

He remembered what his mother was like. He remembered, more specifically, what his mother  _ wasn’t _ like. She wasn’t kind, she wasn’t soft, she wasn’t open or gentle or  _ happy _ . She hardened herself, kept her tiny flame of hope away from the wind by covering up all the chinks in her armor with cement, closing herself off completely. 

He remembered her beady beetle eyes and knotted, bushy hair, her toothy smiles, her heavy scowls. He remembered her rough, bony hands, the way she looked like a skeleton who hadn’t had the energy to bother dying and decaying, the way every day, without fail, he’d help her pack up her cart of herbs and medicines and walk her down to Gavaldon’s square, to Gavaldon’s church, to Gavaldon’s corner, to the edge of Gavaldon where she wouldn’t be taunted.

He remembered the days she came home with her hair pulled and her clothes torn and her medicines and beady beetle eyes shattered and spilling. He remembered the stones and punches thrown there, the comments and the mean looks and the words written on his storybooks and on his skin with sharp pens when they caught him. He remembered the way Adrestia kept hoping he’d have a better life in Evil, the way she never liked Dolos, the way she helped him dye his hair the darkest purple to match the bruise around his eye. He remembered the way her shoulders slumped the entire process. 

“They aren’t supposed to be so kind to me,” Virgil whispered. Tears welled up in his eyes and the wolf loosened his grip on his wrist. 

Not all of them were, but it was hard to remember that. Virgil thought of a textbook slamming on his desk,  _ “Witch. Don’t come near me, your wickedness might be contagious,” _ jeers and taunts and a mangled doll with his hair.  _ Some  _ were, though. Some were, which was a miracle in and of itself. He thought of smiling glasses and cheerful rainbow hair, “resident emo” spoken with kindness and not derision, “kiddo” spoken like an older brother and a hair ruffle to match, lavender petit fours and warm, soothing arms around his neck. 

“How are they so kind? I’m  _ bad _ . I’m Evil. I’m a witch and they… they just...” he didn’t know how to finish, the words stuck in his throat.

The wolf let go of his wrist completely. He seemed awkward, looking away and flexing his clawed fingers. The fairy knotted his hair between her tiny hands.

“No, you’re not,” said the wolf. His voice was rough, gravelly. Hoarse from unuse. 

When Virgil blinked, his tears escaped. “W-what?”

“You aren’t Evil, or  _ bad _ ,” the wolf spat, claws curling into fists, “I’ve seen that. You aren’t it.”

The fairy trilled in agreement, tugging at the roots of his hair. Virgil didn’t know how to respond to that—maybe, maybe he wasn’t Evil. But even though he wasn’t a witch in name, he was surely one in spirit. He had to be—the rocks, the words, the textbook, the medicines dribbling out of cracked vials like blood out of a bruise hard enough to split skin, the taunts, the teasing, all the imperfections… 

The wolf’s feet raked to a stop, holding Honor 13’s door open for him. Ringing of bells and rising chatter below them startled Virgil out of his bewilderment. A wolf in Honor tower… 

“I don’t deserve your kindness either,” Virgil said quietly. This kind of truth should be spoken softly, should not be loud enough for everyone to hear. He took the door from the wolf with a whispered “thank you,” and stepped in his room. The fairy crawled along his shoulder back onto the wolf’s head, sharp nails digging into his skin. He didn’t complain. 

“None of us deserve kindness,” the wolf said finally, letting the door swing shut. “That’s... why we give it, I think.”

Kindness, kindness. Virgil nearly cried. He listened to the wolf’s nails tip-tap away as the student’s voices flowed underneath him. His shoulder ached, and when he breathed, his ribs hurt. He turned around, pressed his back against the door, and slid, slowly, then roughly, to the floor. He nearly cried. He did cry. 

_ Weak, needy, witch… _

  
  
  
  


It was quiet in Honor 13. Patton leaned against his side like a blanket. Terrence ignored them both, quietly doing his homework on his bed. 

Virgil flipped through his textbook, writing notes and questions and copying down notable lines on a separate piece of paper. He had so many questions, like what was he supposed to do now? How would he talk to Dolos? Were Good students the only one with some kind of “code”? He spent extra long on Chivalry and Grooming, as those made the least sense to him.

“How are you going to hold your sword?” Patton asked, flipping through  _ Being a Gentleman 101 _ next to him, a yellow highlighter pen held precariously on the edge of his hand. Virgil kept a half-eye on it, already tensed to catch it falling.

“My right hand is the messed up one,” Virgil said, shifting so the way his wrist was trapped under his stomach wouldn’t press on his aching, healing fingers. 

“Are you left handed?”

Virgil bobbed his head. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Cool. So am I.”

“Really?”

Patton nudged him, the yellow swishing dangerously in the pen, beading up at the nib. Virgil eyed it warily. “Yeah.”

It was a small thing, studying in the quiet of Honor 13. Virgil reread the passage about addresses.  _ Your Excellency, Your Excellency, Your Excellency. Hello, Your Excellency. A pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency. _ He pressed down so hard his pen broke through the paper.  _ Not-not-NOT _ _ Your Grace _ . If Patton noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

A wooden sword dropped next to him on the bed, causing Virgil to knock into Patton in his jolt and spill the yellow ink. It splattered across Patton’s bed, and Virgil gasped, his hand flying to catch what had already fallen. “I’m so sorry!”

Patton glanced dubiously at Terrence, a smile gracing his face even as his eyes looked on curiously. “Oh, no problem, Virge, the nymphs will clean it.”

“Tomorrow,” Virgil said, but Patton waved him towards Terrence, who stood awkwardly before them, the sword left on the bed, an unaccepted but not denied truce. 

“You’re faster than me,” Terrence said, rubbing his hands into his pockets. “But you’re… here, and you need some way to keep your strength up and someone to teach you the drills…”

Virgil didn’t dare propose what he thought Terrence was leading to.

“I’d be willing to help,” Terrence finished.

“I… sure.” Patton looked encouraging; what did he have to lose? “Why not?” 

Virgil could think of at least twenty reasons why not, but he didn’t voice any of them. They swirled around in his brain like yellow ink, coming dangerously close to spilling into tears and ju-ust not. His chest ached like it was sore from all his emotions. He rubbed it absently. “Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he repeated. “Sure.”

Terrence smiled, the truce accepted between them. “Great—we can start tomorrow? After school?”

“If you’re willing,” Virgil hedged. Terrence seemed almost appalled Virgil would question him, but he just happily nodded and moved back to his own bed. 

A few minutes later, he asked, “Do you have an answer for question seven? In Picani’s worksheet?”

The riddle bounced around in his head as he looked for the worksheet through the papers spread on Patton’s bed and waterfalling around it.  _ Something Good needs but Evil can’t have _ . Was there really that much of a difference? 

Virgil found the worksheet and looked for question seven.  _ When confronted with a fallen foe begging for mercy, what do you do? Defend your answer with complete, sensible sentences. _ Virgil hadn’t answered this one—looking back, he’d stopped at question five, the one about a princess who declines advances yet has a reputation for “playing hard to get”.

“I haven’t done this one yet, but I- I think maybe…” Virgil looked up, considering, his eyes tracing the scenes of heroes destroying their enemies. In fact, right above Terrence was a mural of a knight standing triumphantly above a slain dragon. To the left was a prince rescuing a princess from a tower—and a prince facing against a hunchbacked witch—and, in the scene directly next to that, the prince throwing the witch in a prison—wow, princes really won everything, didn’t they? 

Good won and Evil lost. Every time, it seemed.

Every single time.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“...Virgil?”

_ “Despite Evil’s recent…” _

_ “Losing streak? Constant failure? Inevitable doom?” _

_ “...track record.” _

What would that _do_ to a society?

“Oh.” 

Patton poked him in the shoulder with his recovered pen, sending a dull pain rocketing to Virgil’s fingers. “Ah! Yes, hi. Sorry.”

“What was that all about?” asked Terrence, half-laughing. Virgil just stared up at the ceiling.

“I think I figured out the riddle.”

It was quiet in Honor 13.

Virgil found he didn’t mind it.

  
  
  
  


Victory. 

Good had won for almost two hundred years in a row, or something like that, right? It made sense. He sat in Picani’s office and clicked his shoes together, pulling at his clothes as his tea grew cold on the table.

“—and the only thing I can’t figure out,” he said to Picani’s attentive hum, “is how Good can’t do without but Evil can never have it. If it wasn’t for that, I think I—I may have had it.”

Picani tipped his chin onto his fingers. “Actually, I can think of a few ways.”

Virgil perked up. “Really? How?”

“Mm, well, what happens when one side becomes so overpowered, the other side always loses?”

Virgil wracked his brain, staring out the window directly across from what he thought was Dean Remy’s office. “Uh—the winning side could go stagnant. Like, it might—I mean, it could…” the words lodged in his throat.

Picani just waved his pencil, pushing his glasses up his nose and not commenting aside from a nonchalant, “You’re doing great.”

“It could get arrogant. Or paranoid. Or... if Good…  _ lost _ , it’d lose horribly by now.” It’d be awful. It’d be  _ disastrous _ . Did they realize?

“They’ve become so convinced they can’t possibly be beaten that they’ve been doing nothing to grow more powerful. Yet they are so paranoid they’ll be defeated that they’ve been pushing themselves away from anything not strictly Good,” Picani said, adjusting his tie (a powder blue today). “A strategy that will, should it fail, lead to their horrific downfall as the recoil from centuries of an unbalanced, coiled scale flings back into place.”

“And Evil?”

“What do you think?”

Virgil considered it, pressing his hands in between his knees as he thought. “They’ve… lost hope, they’ve given up, they’ve been trying so hard to be strong they’re going down the wrong road, they’re—”

Picani stopped him, dashing Virgil’s anxiety about having said something wrong with a casual, “Yeah, that one’s good. So, Evil has been trying so hard to be strong they’ve pushed away anything not strictly ‘strong.’ See, it isn’t a difference between Good and Evil because, when you get down with it, they aren’t two separate things, but two sides of the same thing. Like, two sides of the same coin.” He then proceeded to hold up a coin to emphasize his point. “Darkness and light, mercy and revenge, life and death, etcetera, etcetera. It isn’t a difference, it's a disconnection. It’s an imbalance.”

“So—I have the answer to the riddle?” Virgil checked, just to be sure, just to make sure he was thinking the right thing  _ he solved it— _

What now?

His talk with Emile ended with a nymph escort back to Honor 13 who refused to do anything but stare straight ahead with a strong grip on his arm. 

How to tell Dolos? The next logical step was figuring out how to use his newfound knowledge to prove Dolos wasn’t a witch. How to show Evil  _ winning _ ? Because if Evil won, that would mean the Schoolmaster would  _ have _ to switch Dolos into Good, say, “oh, my bad, he was always Good,” reassure the world that Evil could never win. How was he supposed to do that? 

He sat down on his bed and pulled out  _ Being a Gentleman _ , tapping his wooden sword against his ankle. How to show Evil winning…

Was there anything Dolos was currently fighting for? Anything that could be used to his advantage?

Wait.

_ Wait— _

Virgil snapped the book shut on his finger. Snatching a spare piece of parchment off of his desk, he tore off a piece and scribbled out a message to Dolos—how he would send it to him was another issue—Patton, he’d ask Patton or Terrence—what to say—

The door opened and Patton entered, his face sweaty from running up all the stairs. He dropped the picnic basket on the floor and grinned. “Sorry, I can’t stay! The Snow Ball announcement is today!”

“The—Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, it’s like the big event at the end of the year for the Evers right after the little talent show in the Theatre of Tales. Talyn’s rioting—apparently, if an ‘Evergirl’—” he put sarcastic air quotes around the word  _ girl _ “—doesn’t get a date she fails, but an Everboy just gets partial credit.”

“That doesn’t seem fair at all,” Virgil said. Patton nodded sympathetically and— _ here’s his chance _ , “can you give Dolos a message?”

Patton seemed uncertain, but nevertheless, he accepted Virgil’s piece of paper.

Now to hope for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit short, I know, but hey! We’ve got the answer to the riddle, Virgil is realising maybe he isn’t horrible at being a person, and Terrence is coming around! Things are looking up! Things are going to be moving a little quicker now—breaking our pattern of one day at a time, which I’m not entirely certain about, to be honest, but hey, we need to get going. I’ve been focusing so much on individual character growth that I’ve nearly forgotten about plot growth! We still have the lunchtime lectures (or whatever equivalent we can find for Dolos and Delilah, who I don’t think cares much about such things), the love spell, the trial by tale… we have so much more to cover in just part the first and a lot of it is in montage form, so I’ll have to talk with Caellie about what to do.  
> I think we explained our reasoning behind the answer to the riddle fairly well, but I’ll reiterate it here—because Good has been victorious for so long and Evil has been defeated, they’ve based their entire identities as Good and Evil around winning or trying to win (and losing). Therefore, if Good were to lose, they would have a devastating crash due to their worldview being centered on winning and, therefore, very much black and white ideals that cannot be shaken for fear of societal collapse (“love these people, hate these people, dress this way, act this way, if you don’t you won’t be Good anymore and we might all die” and “nah, we won’t ever lose, we’re too strong for that and Evil has nothing to offer us even in terms of learning from our enemy, therefore encouraging our narrow mindset!” at the same time, leading to some of Roman and Patton’s character arc). However, losing is impossible for them because, in their attempts to become stronger, Evil has unintentionally sabotaged themselves by culling out anything they see as weak (i.e emotions, love, mercy, etc.), which will play into Logan’s character arc. Good has to win and Evil never can because, if they did, everything would destroy itself. “Can’t” is both being used as “is unable to” and “should not” at the same time. Because the idea that Good and Evil is some unknown force that dictates everything and the difference between them is something as unconditional and universal as _love_ and not merely the result of two hundred years of a power imbalance is stifling to me and so I decided to change it. Fight me with black-painted nerf guns in the back of a Denny’s parking lot, I have stubbornness and Caellie on my side.  
> Did that make sense? Feel free to ask more questions, we love seeing comments and inquisitive minds!  
> Let’s see, what else—The Snow Ball will come into play eventually, hold tight on that, especially with Talyn. In fact, the Snow Ball was our inspiration for Ever culture and then, subsequently, part two, or, “A world without princes” but not. Spoilers, so I’ll stop talking. This chapter was shorter than usual, but I wanted to stretch out Virgil’s gradual ascension through his character arc. His relationships with Patton, Picani, and Talyn will be key for the arc with Dolos in Part 1. The more time he spends with them, the more he’ll be able to resist Dolos, until… On the other hand, Dolos sees this and, well, chapter 15 is rather long. Over eight thousand words, I believe. Anything could happen.   
> Goodness, that’s a sinister note to end on when Virgil is feeling so light. Sorry these endnotes are so long!   
> And thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed and that you have a fantastic day!   
> —Vaye


	15. Literally Everyone In This School Has Issues and We're Honestly Starting to Worry

By the screams of snipped snakes in a gorgon salon, what in the name of the Woods and all that lay beyond was Dolos supposed to make of  _ this _ ?

_ I figured out the answer to the Schoolmaster’s riddle.  _

_ Delilah needs to fall in love with you. Take her to the Snow Ball. _

Obviously written in Virgil’s hand (he kept closing his “u”s and curving his “i”s and twisting his “e”s so the word “uninteresting” became “onjntarastjng”, no matter how much Dolos worked with him on it), the note had dropped into his lap in the middle of lunch, when he was abandoning his pail of smelly gruel and wondering where the heck Virgil was.

Patton’s eyes had flickered over Dolos’ face with an almost concerned look, reminding Dolos why he disliked him. “Virgil wanted me to give this to you,” Patton mumbled and quickly fled to Talyn, who was now sporting fluffed lavender hair.

_ I figured out the answer to the Schoolmaster’s riddle.  _

_ Delilah needs to fall in love with you. Take her to the Snow Ball. _

The Snow Ball? The one that was just announced? 

Dolos could do that. Maybe not in these clothes… or with this breath… or with this hair... but he could do that. He’d have to confer with Logan and Joan first, though. Maybe he could weasel a love spell out of them, save him all the hard work. 

Yes, a love spell would be wonderful.

He pushed himself off the ground and joined the two under a dead tree crawling with bugs. When he sat down, they didn’t look up. 

Rude.

The scars on his face ached a blistering maroon.  _ I figured out the answer to the Schoolmaster’s riddle.  _

_ I figured out the answer to the Schoolmaster’s riddle.  _

I  _ figured out the answer to the Schoolmaster’s riddle.  _

Why Virgil? What was the answer? Figured that the  _ one time _ Virgil was useful, he didn’t actually tell Dolos what the answer was. How was he so sure?

How come Dolos didn’t figure it out?

How did Virgil,  _ a witch _ , figure it out before  _ him _ ?

“I need Delilah to fall in love with me,” Dolos opened, instead of a proper greeting.

Joan scoffed. “Yeah, and you’re here why?”

“He needs our help,” Logan said. Dolos saw his eyes glowing and scowled.

“Stop using your freaky eye powers on me!”

Logan’s eyes faded with a startled blink. “Why not?”

Dolos stared. “...you’re kidding, right?”

“Why are you here?” Joan interrupted before Logan could reply, his ( _ his, his, his _ ) hands clenched into fists on top of his legs. “If we help you—” (“I never said I needed help,” Dolos grumbled) “—will you leave?”

“You’ll never have to see me again,” Dolos said smoothly, and Joan and Logan shared a considering look. Well, it was technically the truth. Once he was in Good, they wouldn’t  _ have _ to see him. Nobody would force them to, and even in an assignment they could technically take a failing grade. Not a lie.

Logan pressed his lips into an unhappy line, burying his face into his scarf. “Fine. What do you need?”

“A love spell.”

“No.”

The bell rang, and Dolos was left gaping as Logan took Joan’s arm and left. Why  _ not _ ? Logan obviously wanted him gone; Joan certainly did. He journeyed back up through the tunnel for Special Talents, his cheek aching.

He’d seen Delilah casting looks at it before, and not in a nice way. Scowling so hard it hurt, he quickly walked past a dusty, cracked mirror and plopped down in his seat in Special Talents. Logan and Joan took no notice of him. Just one love spell! One love spell, and Delilah would accept his invitation to the ball which would… complete whatever condition Virgil had discovered the Schoolmaster wanted them to complete.

They’d be switched, and Dolos would be perfect. 

He still felt gazes on him even though they were supposed to be working on identifying the talents of past villains. Honestly… 

Didn’t these people have something else to do?

The scars took up the entire length of his cheek, three of them, running from his ear to the corner of his mouth. He knew how they looked. Just barely healed by the fairies, flaps of skin and flesh hanging open, pulsing a furious red, maroon, and metallic scarlet. Disgusting and eye-catching and noticeable and  _ evil _ . 

That was the point, though, of the punishment. 

Something in him writhed, twisting like a worm pulled out of the ground. Right, the punishment. 

He dreamed of that, at night. The smell of the sewers and claws stinging at his face, the way that shackle pinched at his skin. The way the beast sank in the sewers. Never to be seen again. Only by Dolos in nightmares that he couldn’t get rid of.

The beast’s red eyes haunted his sleep.

Where was Virgil? Dolos needed answers.

He caught Joan and Logan during Surviving Fairy Tales. Immediately, Logan’s eyes flashed. A warning, most likely. “No.”

“I wasn’t even going to ask!” Dolos complained, but no, no matter. “Do you know where Virgil is?”

“House arrest,” Joan said, practically stomping along the blue path. A baby-blue daisy got smushed under his feet as Logan carefully inserted himself between them. “T—I heard some gossip—” Dolos noted his slip, and Logan’s eyes flared again. Curious. “—that he’s in house arrest while he heals.”

While  _ Virgil _ healed? Dolos resisted the urge to press a hand to his face. Seriously, how hurt could Virgil have possibly gotten? Dolos had been bashed against the floor countless times and yet  _ he _ had only gotten a few smacks from a fairy and a bandage over his shoulder. What had  _ Virgil _ done?

_ Run in to help Dolos run in to save Dolos run in to rescue Dolos Dolos Dolos who’d been in trouble not in trouble been just fine been smashed against the forest floor and shredded by the thorns who’d been just fine without him who could have saved himself until Virgil Virgil Virgil ALWAYS MADE EVERYTHING WORSE— _

Dolos clenched his hand around his thumb as if cutting off his blood flow would cut off his thoughts. House arrest while he healed—that was obviously an excuse for something because  _ Virgil wasn’t hurt _ . Virgil did  _ not _ get hurt  _ saving _ him. No, Virgil didn’t even save him.  _ Virgil always made everything worse and a witch didn’t save the prince no no no— _

“Just one love spell?” Dolos simpered. He had to get out of this school, out of this school and into the right one. “One itty bitty love spell and I’m out of your hair forever!”

“No.”

Logan tugged Joan away and was promptly turned into a bright blue pumpkin by Chir. 

What? 

A rap on the head later and Dolos, too, was shriveling down to the ground and watching the girls from both schools wander around. Ah, looking for Good vs Evil again. 

Some warning would have been nice. 

But who would get a warning in the Evil School?

Of course, if Dolos had been paying attention, he would have probably heard a warning, but he was a pumpkin now, and pumpkins didn’t have to take responsibility for that kind of thing. Regardless, it was Logan who had distracted him by being a bull-headed, stubborn son of a mole rat with cataracts, and therefore it wasn’t Dolos’ fault at all, really.

“Just one love spell,” he whispered, although how he managed to do that without vocal chords was beyond him. It was probably the magic. 

“Stop asking, you’ll give us away,” Joan muttered back.

“If you don’t agree I’ll yell, then.”

“Shut up, you have pumpkin seeds for brains.”

“And I’d say you have a squash for a mother, but we all know that’s much too good for her,” he snapped back.

(A delicate finger tapped him. “This is a Never and… that one is an Ever!”)

“Well  _ you _ smell like seasonal depression!” Joan hissed.

(“Are you sure?” Chir called.)

“At least that’s better than the day after Samhain!” Dolos exclaimed, raising his voice a bit the way such rudeness demanded. Who did Joan think he was, honestly?

(“Oh, yes, I’m sure!”)

“You don’t even—”

They cut off their argument with a sharp yelp, Chir having smacked them both with the end of his fancy magic stick. Dolos blinked up at the Evergirl, who wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Well, fiddlesticks, I was way off.”

“You guys are both idiots,” Logan mumbled, his shell glowing a brilliant shade of indigo. Joan gasped, his hands flying up to his mouth, and muttered something about betrayal. Logan must’ve heard it too, but he just let out a small huff.

Dolos grimaced. “Stop using your creepy mind tricks!”

“They aren’t—”

When everybody had been found, Dolos had managed to scrape by with a “13”. Joan got an “11” for some ridiculous reason, Sei got a “2” and Logan, with his cheery golden “1” for staying hidden the entire time, took Joan’s arm and quickly pulled him away, blue eyes just screaming  _ go go go go go go— _

Leaving Dolos behind right as he was going to ask them again.

This was fine. No, this was completely fine. It wasn’t like he’d been planning on needling them into accepting his offer or annoying them so much they  _ had _ to accept or anything like that; no, he could roll with this. Avoiding him. Cool. 

He caught Delilah’s eye at the edge of the group, who fluttered right on over. He grinned; this was much more important than repeating the same question over and over at Logan. 

“Hey Delilah,” he said, combing a hand through his hair. He let the corners of his mouth twitch up and his eyebrows lower and he brushed pumpkin seeds off the hem of his tunic, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

Delilah giggled a bit, fluttering her eyelashes innocently as she pouted. “A pity about your uniform. I’d stay to talk a bit but I can’t when you look so  _ much _ like a Never, you understand.”

And she waggled her fingers and left in a breeze of rose perfume before he could object (and explain how  _ he _ should be an Ever instead of a Never, and if there were actual Groom Rooms to use, he would not be looking like he crawled out of the sewers, and none of this was his fault).

Her eyes flicked back at him over her slim shoulder. They really were the brightest blue. Cyan, even, crystal and vivid. Not like the clouds of hazy electricity that rolled over Logan’s eyes whenever he used his “talent”. He liked those eyes.

He liked those eyes when they weren’t insulting him. However, she was right; he knew she was right. Nobody would ever believe he was an Ever if he looked like this.

He touched a finger to his face and a quick, sharp ball of pain rose to meet it—he hurriedly lowered his hand and began to leave the clearing, trailing after Roman’s gaggle of Everboys. He had memorized a few recipes for skincare and hair products and other such things, but Virgil had done most of the sewing… maybe he could pass textiles through Patton. If Virgil pleaded enough, well, Patton  _ was _ his “friend,” surely he’d help, and if he didn’t Dolos would just remind him of the fact. But the issue of his products was still there; he didn’t know most of the ingredients here and he didn’t know where to find them if he did.

Why was this so difficult? The prince was supposed to triumph over everything, wasn’t he?

When he stumbled over something he nearly swore, but cut himself off just in time. Roman turned and raised an eyebrow at him, something that Dolos would’ve cared about had he not been too busy digging what he had stumbled over out of the dirt. 

_ The Recipe Book for Good Looks _ . 

_ Anya of Woods Beyond, _ the name inside the cover proclaimed.  _ Evergirl 1st year.  _ Doodles and scribbles of fish and faces and stars and flowers decorated the inside, around the borders and corners. A fairly decent rose. A truly atrocious picture of a girl with two pigtails who didn’t seem to be anyone in particular. He remembered Anya, or at least her name. Stolen from her bed twenty years ago and popped up inside a storybook called  _ The Little Mermaid _ , she never returned, fated to live out her life to the (her) prince. His father cited that day in any of their arguments about the School for Good without fail.  _ “Anya was nearly killed! Anya’s parents miss her terribly! The School for Good ruined her; the Anya I knew would never have made a deal with that witch!” _

What luck. Had Virgil been with him, he would’ve advised caution, but he wasn’t, and Dolos wouldn’t— _ couldn’t _ —ignore this.

He hid it inside his tunic and followed Roman’s court at a distance.

  
  
  
  


“I told you so.”

“No, you didn’t,” Logan said dumbly, a word Dolos would never have thought would relate to Logan of all people. “You said, ‘he’s going to do something stupid now, isn’t he?’”

“Yeah. This is what I was referring to.”

Dolos primly crossed his legs, carefully maneuvering around the vials and various bubbling potions scattered around him, and held up  _ The Recipe Book for Good Looks _ . “Found it in the Blue Forest. Has some good stuff in here, mostly for women though… It’s fine, I’ll manage.”

Logan took a deep breath and turned on his heel. “Nope. Not now.”

Joan reached out to stop him, but Logan deftly sidestepped his hands. “Don’t leave me!”

“I’ll be back in five minutes. This better be cleaned up by then.”

“Logan!”

Logan slammed the door behind him, and Joan was left standing alone in Vice 16, looking for all the world like someone was threatening to cut the vocal chords out of his parrot. Dolos grinned devilishly at him. “So, how is that love spell looking now?”

“I hate you. I hate you  _ so _ much.”

  
  


The next day, Dolos plopped himself down next to Talyn and Patton and stole one of Patton’s miniature meat pies. “I need you to send a note to Virgil.”

“What, you can’t talk to him yourself?” Talyn grumped, shooting him looks that would have burned the feathers off a phoenix if any of them were courageous enough to actually get close to her ( _ her her her, not they, her _ ) in the first place. She unwound a forest green curl fastened on top of her head and stuck the pin in her mouth.

Dolos rolled his eyes. “He’s in house arrest, of course I can’t.”

“Just go see him in Good, it’s not that hard,” Patton said.

Good witch of the everlasting Woods, were they all this stupid? “There’s a barrier in the way,” Dolos said patiently. “I can’t get in even if I tried.”

Talyn just stared at him, her hands frozen on top of her head. “You… haven’t figured out the way through?”

_ What _ . “There’s a way through the barrier?” And he was only knowing this now? Had Virgil known?

Talyn glanced between him and Patton, slowly untangling a second curl and letting it bounce in front of her face. “...yes?”

Dolos fiddled impatiently. Everybody was solving things before he was these days… he hated it. “And?”

She reached back and groped around her needlessly complicated tangle of hair suspended above the nape of her neck, Patton watching him warily like he might try to interfere with this seemingly important ritual. “I don’t think I should tell you.”

“I’m trying to help get us home,” Dolos said, because he probably shouldn’t tell  _ these people _ that he was trying to switch himself into their school. “That’s what he wants, that’s what I want, and if you had any amount of care for your ‘friend’ - although I have no idea why  _ you _ of all people want to claim that label - then you’ll at least let me give him a message for me.”

Talyn tossed two pins by his knees and a heap of sea foam green hair tumbled onto her shoulders. She pursed her lips, sharing glances with Patton. 

“You just have to convince it you’re Good,” she said eventually. 

“I have to convince my own reflection I’m Good,” Dolos parroted, scrunching his eyebrows. She was making no sense.

Patton slid his arms around his knees. “‘Good with Good, Evil with Evil,’ right?”

“‘Back to your tower before there’s upheaval,’” Dolos finished. “Yeah, why?”

“You have to convince them you belong in the other school,” Talyn said from around the pins in her mouth. She tied off her twisted hair and began meticulously coiling it into a small ball at the back of her head, leaving dangling strands in front of her face. “Like, I ranted about my classmates and apparently used vulgar enough language that my reflection let me through.”

Dolos nodded, taking this in—yes, he could work with that—and jerked his head back up. “Why did you need to go to the School for Evil?”

Talyn wound a bobby pin into her knotted hair, carefully curling a lock of her bangs over her face. “Uh. Spying.”

Dolos didn’t believe that for a second. “Sure.”

_ “T-I heard some gossip—” _

“T-T-T”... “T” for Talyn? What did Joan have to do with Talyn? Dolos was looking at a lake, and while he only saw his own reflection staring back at him, he knew there was life underneath the surface that he couldn’t reach. Right out of his grasp, right in front of him…

So close, yet so far.

He wanted answers that he wasn’t going to get any time soon.

Dolos stood up, taking another one of Patton’s pies. “Thank you for your service. I much appreciate this.”

“Go away, you uncooked noodle,” Talyn snarked.

That was fine. 

He already had what he needed. 

  
  
  
  


“You again? You haven’t given up?” His reflection played with his fingertips, giving Dolos a sly look out of the corner of his eye. Dolos scowled, and his reflection mockingly mimicked the expression. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” he laughed. “It’s your own fault you haven’t been able to get through and you know it. What, do you think I’m just going to let you through to play with your little prince whenever you want? Good with Good, Evil with Evil—”

“I think Virgil’s survival in the School for Good proves that it is I who belongs there,” Dolos interrupted, thinking quickly. His reflection quirked an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

“When I met him previously, he was a snarky, sarcastic thing,” Dolos said. “The rudest person you’d ever seen. He was beaten down by society for it, bullied for it—understandably, fairly, but terribly. I became friends with him, I helped him see that such an attitude was getting him nowhere and voila! He’s been able to pretend he’s Good.” He waved a hand and his reflection mimicked him, eyebrows furrowed. “Trust me, of course, he isn’t. But I think the fact that he’s managed to convince a rather generous amount of people that he is says something about my talents, doesn’t it?”

“You see everything he’s become as your own design?” his reflection asked. “Your own making?”

“How could I not? I’ve molded him into who he is today—we need to touch up on some things, but he’s much happier now than he was when I met him,” Dolos reported. “All he needed was someone to care about him—it’s the mark of a true prince to care for a friend, after all.”

His reflection played with the lapels of his suit. The same suit, Dolos noted, that he’d worn upon arrival in the School for Evil. Virgil must still have his coattails… he wondered if he could ask for them back.

“And yet you’re lying to him.”

Dolos’ breath stuttered. “What _ ever _ do you mean?”

His reflection’s glare took on a sharp gleen. “You told him that he’s going home, that he’s happy, that he only has you. That you don’t think he’s a witch.”

Dolos thought of Talyn and Patton. Fake friends, if he’d ever seen one. “He does only have me.”

“What about Talyn? Patton?”

“They don’t know him. They don’t know his story, the pain he’s gone through, the true  _ depth _ of our relationship.” 

_Water glistening as the sun flickered above them. “The pond is practically abandoned right now.”_ _Virgil’s heartbeat stuttering under his fingers. Eating tasteless muffins on a log. “I know you better than that.” Dyed hair a shade too dark. Big black cloaks patched up with purple cloth and white yarn unraveled from an old knit scarf. “It’s fine.” Weak, needy witch. Weak, needy, witch. Weak, needy, WITCH—_

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Dolos finished uncomfortably, a small tremor in his voice betraying him.

His reflection glanced him up and down. “Good,” he said finally. “Unfortunately Good.” And he stood aside. 

Dolos shoved past him, eyes locked on the spiraling crystal towers of Good Castle. 

“He’ll be heartbroken when he finds out.”

Dolos looked back, just a bit, and his reflection stared back at him, in the suit Virgil had sewn, Dolos’ own eyes screwed up in… sadness. It looked like sadness. Regret.

“He won’t,” he said, and he turned away.

  
  
  
  
  


So, maybe this plan wasn’t the best idea.

It could have been worse. He could have tried to scale one of Good towers like he’d originally wanted to do. That would have been  _ much _ worse.

Instead he’d waltzed inside the castle and immediately realized that he’d stick out like a sore thumb the way he looked. A lone student walking the halls was grounds for punishment for skipping class. A lone  _ Never _ walking the halls was grounds for a trip back to the Doom Room.

_ The beast’s red eyes haunted his sleep. _

He found an Everboy uniform in what looked like a laundry room and stole it from under a nymph’s nose. It didn’t fit him right. As he slipped his way through the halls of Good (Virgil was in Honor, wasn’t he? He’d said something about that at some point, hadn’t he?) he plucked at the cloth. The vest hung off him at a weird angle, and the shirt was too big and tight around his shoulders. He looked gangly and skinny, the result of a child who’d never seen an adult before being told “they’re bigger” and sent to draw a picture with that information and nothing else. His legs looked too long because his pants were too short and his torso looked too thick because of the huge shirt and his neck looked too short due to the excessively long collar and his hands swam in fabric from his sleeves. 

The black swan stayed stubbornly stuck to his shirt.

The first time he was able to wear an Ever uniform, and he had to get one from the boy who’d been cursed with the weirdest body type known to man. Great. Just... great.

Honor, where was it, again? A flurry of voices sprang up, and Dolos realized for the first time how thin the glass was below him. He could hear everything. Nothing he could figure out, of course—the voices all lapped over and interrupted and just generally made too much of a mess of each other for that—but it was fairly noisy even all the way up here.

The castle was beautiful.

Ah, well, so Dolos didn’t need to know what room Virgil was in. A nymph guarded the entrance, big arms crossed over her chest.  _ Man _ was she tall. Dolos scrabbled around for something to throw as a distraction—a pencil would do, the end chewed on and pockmarked with scratches from teeth—ew— and threw it down the hall . The nymph’s head shot up, and she slunk off to investigate, moving like an upright cat. He slipped through the door of Honor 13.

Virgil didn’t notice him at first. He stayed hunched over a textbook of some form, pen in hand, mouthing the words as he went along and swaddled in his cloak, sitting cross-legged on a nest of pillows constructed on the floor. As Dolos watched, he leaned forward to scratch a note on a separate piece of paper balanced on his knee.

So, Dolos took the time to look around. He could see himself in this room. He’d take the middle bed, the one directly under a painting of King Arthur sweeping Lady Guinevere off her feet. He’d use the desk directly next to it, the one currently overflowing with colored pencils and pens and pots of pastel ink. Of course, Dolos lamented, Virgil had taken the bed off to the side, the one closest to the door and farthest from windows. Such a pity.

Stepping forward, Dolos made sure his feet clicked against the floor. “I got your note.”

Virgil flinched back. He flung his book away and snatched up what looked like a wooden practice sword, his eyes flickering around. When he saw Dolos he relaxed. “Oh. Sorry, yeah, hi.” He rubbed his eyes, laying the sword carefully beside him on the bed. “Sorry—how did you get in here?”

Dolos pouted, playing with his fingertips. “You sound like you aren’t pleased to see me.” 

Virgil’s eyes widened and he quickly stood to guide Dolos to an armchair near the window. “I am!” he assured, “I am, I’m just… tired. I’ve been working ahead in my schoolwork and Professor Luphel hasn’t been any more lenient because of my injuries…”

His hand was bandaged. He had faint scars slashing down his cheeks. Virgil didn’t get hurt saving him, because Dolos hadn’t needed saving and  _ Virgil wasn’t hurt _ . Virgil had never  _ been _ hurt. 

“ _ Your _ injuries?” Dolos spat. Virgil gasped a bit and his fingers fluttered forward to hover over Dolos’ cheek.

“Oh, Woods! How on earth did you get this!”

He... hadn’t noticed? 

“Doom Room,” he said. Virgil let out a small cry of—distress? Surprise?

“You were so pretty,” he whispered.

Dolos waved him off. This armchair was divine. Why couldn’t the rooms in Vice have magnificent armchairs? The ones in the common room were moldy and overstuffed to uncomfortability. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I can handle it. What injuries do they say you have?”

Virgil blinked at him, spreading his arms a bit. “Um. I broke my fingers, for one… they said my wrist was sprained too and I have… bruised ribs? Cracked ribs? Both? It hurts to breathe, so something like that.”

“You’re standing and talking, you’re fine,” Dolos muttered. “They’re overreacting.”

Virgil laughed, a tinge of nervousness seeping through his voice. “Y-yeah, I guess they are.” But when he sat down across from Dolos, his eyes clouded with slight pain.  _ Virgil wasn’t hurt _ . 

“...Professor Luphel?”

“The Weapons and Swordplay instructor.”

“Ah.”

Since when was it so hard to talk to Virgil? They used to be able to toss the conversation back and forth, trading banter and dialogue so easily. Now all it seemed they could do was let the awkward bouts of silence replace the past words. Dolos tap-danced his fingers across his knee. Virgil was  _ his _ friend,  _ his _ .

“I talked with Patton and Talyn today,” he said. 

Virgil perked up a bit—his eyes shined, just at the mention of them? “Really?”

Dolos made a face. “They were really rude, are they like that with you? They kept going on about how villainous I was and how much I shouldn’t be around you and, I swear, Patton never stopped glaring. I asked them a question, and they insulted me!”

Virgil’s smile fell and shattered onto the floor. “They—did?”

_ Good. _

Dolos quickly schooled his expression into one of sorrow and guilt and comfort, that was what Virgil wanted to see. “Sorry Virgil, I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”

_ No, it’s fine _ , Virgil would say.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Virgil said, running his hands through his hair and brushing it back from his eyes.  _ I’ll talk to them. _ “I’ll talk to them about it, they shouldn’t treat you like that.”

Perfect. “Actually,” he said carefully, edging his words around the giant, gaping hole that they weren’t talking about, “I don’t think you should.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you should be around them at all, in fact. If they’re so mean to me, then how do you know they aren’t just pretending for you?”

“...what?”

Dolos leaned closer to the hole. “I know you better, Virgil, but I doubt anyone at this School truly sees you. It hurts, but isn’t it better to have real friends? True friends?”

“I-I guess…” Virgil shifted in his seat, staring at his hands. Dolos took them—they were calloused and scarred under his fingers. Damaged, like a villain’s.

“Virgil, I’m only trying to look out for you when I say this.” He had always taken Virgil’s hands. It comforted the purple haired disaster, grounded him. It had taken a long time to build up to Virgil initiating the touch, a long time to get Virgil comfortable enough with him to maintain physical contact. It was one of Dolos’ greatest achievements with Virgil—why now were Virgil’s hands trembling? “But I don’t think Talyn and Patton have your best interests in mind when they… act friendly with you.”

Virgil pursed his lips, eyes shiny. Dolos squeezed his hands. “Princes don’t cry.”

“R-right.” Virgil’s voice was hoarse, stiff. He shook his head, harshly. “Of course. You’d know, right?” He asked. He sounded so small, so vulnerable. So weak. “You’d know if they were just faking.”

“I would,” Dolos agreed. “And they are. I can tell.”

“You…” when Virgil sighed it was like he was sinking, physically deflating and collapsing to the ground. Like the air had sputtered out of his balloon. “You can tell.”

“I know hiding in your graveyard is comforting for you,” he said, letting go of Virgil’s hands. Virgil reached up and presses his fingers to the glistening tears sliding down his cheekbones. “But it does have some disadvantages when it comes to knowing how people behave within society’s unwritten laws. Storybooks can only take you so far when it comes to human nature.”

Virgil nodded shakily, cutting back a sob with a frustrated noise, and went back to staring at his hands. Still trembling. But now his shoulders were shaking too, so, then, it didn’t have something to do with Dolos. Good. 

_ “He’ll be heartbroken when he finds out.” _

Virgil would never find out.

“Delilah says I need to look more like an Ever,” Dolos said, leaning back into his heavenly chair. When he became a king eventually, he’d want one of these chairs. Glorious. His heart felt heavy somehow. For some reason. 

Odd.

_ “He’ll be heartbroken when he finds out.” _

“And you need to beat Roman to her favor,” Virgil mumbled, toying with the tie of his cloak. “That’s the answer to the riddle. Victory. A Never has to be victorious. An Ever has to fail.”

He sniffled and batted at his nose and Dolos blinked. Victory. Huh.

“Will you, please, Virgil, construct a variety of outfits for my endeavors in getting one Delilah of Pifflepaff Hills to go to the Snow Ball with me?” Dolos blinked his eyes for humorous effect and Virgil giggled. 

“Sure. It’s the least I can do.” Virgil began to say more, but cast a look at the door and stood up instead, exchanging a few words with the nymph outside. He returned looking uncertain. “Florence will be gone for another minute. Um, how will I send clothes to you?”

“I’ll come get them each morning.” Now that he knew the barrier’s trick, he could get by easily. “Thank you, Virgil.”

“Of course.”

He slipped out of Honor 13 and journeyed back down the castle, shedding his ill-fitting clothes (he stashed them behind a table, the owner would just have to do without them) to blend back in with the Nevers. The black swan glimmered on his chest, right above his heart.

He didn’t bother trying to cover it with his hand.

Dolos managed to sneak back to Virgil’s room before classes started for the Nevers. Some glimmer of activity trickled down the pink staircases of Charity and Purity, but not Valor or Honor, save for room 13 of course, where Virgil sat embroidering a jacket over one of his textbooks.

“All the other boys are at their classes,” Virgil explained when asked, and handed over a gorgeous three-piece suit. “I made it out of old Never uniforms,” he said. 

“How did you get them?”

“The nymphs like purple scarves, but they do not like Nevers. If I give them the opportunity to both obtain purple accessories  _ and  _ mess with some Nevers by making their laundry disappear… that Sei guy seems like a jerk, is all I’m saying.” Virgil laughed uncomfortably, Dolos pretended not to notice.

Well, why not. That sounded believable. 

_ The Evil take. _

Dolos changed into the outfit and journeyed back down to Evil, black swan shining in the light.

“That has to be against the rules,” Sei complained when he saw. But no, the teachers couldn’t (didn’t?) do anything.

He was still technically wearing the uniform, after all. 

Roman saw Delilah staring and scowled.

The next day Dolos wore the same shirt, but this time had on an black jacket outlined in yellow, a clean pair of the uniform shoes (yes, he did wash them himself; it was tiring and beneath him, but worth it), and the pair of paints from the three-piece. Nobody would notice the difference. Virgil’s fingers were bandaged when he had retrieved the clothes but he was smiling. At least then he was smiling.

“Did you hear?” Joan asked in Henchmen training. “Beast’s dead.”

Dolos’ hands stilled. “Is he?”

“His body washed up on the shore. Who on earth was Evil enough to kill  _ him _ ?” 

_ The beast’s red eyes haunted his sleep. _

For once, Dolos didn’t speak up.

Talyn confronted him at lunch. “Virgil refuses to talk to Patton,” she hissed, her hair a firetruck red. “What did you  _ do _ ?”

“Reminded him where his true friends lay and therefore where his loyalties should lie,” Dolos replied smoothly, sipping some lemonade he’d snatched from an Evergirl.

If she had fangs, she would have bared them right then and there, but she was driven off by jeering Evergirls and went to sulk by Patton. He watched her go. 

He was invited into Delilah and Roman’s court by the end of lunch. 

On the third day Dolos’ rank had dropped from second to twentieth. On the bright side, he had a full stock of pastes and powders and brushes he’d scrounged from Vex’s talisman-making kit (he interrogated everyone on their floor for them but never found out Dolos was the thief, hah), even if he couldn’t fully cover his face due to the cuts.

He examined them in the mirror. Healed, but barely. Still protesting whenever he spoke or moved his jaw too much or smiled. Still twinging and keeping him up at night, forcing him to slather the space under his eyes with foundation that stung.

Still glowering a reddish blackish maroon, curving down sharply. Long and thin and  _ Evil-looking _ , like something straight out of a storybook.

Everything here was straight out of a storybook. It made sense his scars were too.

Virgil had crafted a slightly juvenile-but-sleek outfit, with the shorts and long-sleeved jacket made out of the old Never uniforms, chains that came with the belt and a silver necklace hanging low against his shirt that gave him look respectable but rough, and Dolos smoothed it down as he went about his day. The material felt coarse under his hands.

Virgil had bags under his eyes. Big ones, big purple ones, the same color as his hair. Too dark. But Delilah completely ignored Roman the entire day. 

Worth it. It was all going to be worth it.

It wasn’t working. Virgil had gone down a few rankings to give Dolos his next outfit, with boots and “shirtless sleeves” as Virgil had shyly called them, and Dolos had completely ignored his classes in favor of reading the  _ Being a Gentleman 101 _ textbook he’d stolen from one of Virgil’s classmates (Virgil’s eyes were red when Dolos arrived the morning after, and he full-body-flinched when Dolos dropped the book on Virgil’s desk—why?). The only thing he managed to pick up that was something about Nemesis dreams having an effect on Uglification.

Logan scowled at him as he saccharinely smiled. “If you gave me a love spell this would be all over,” he said.

Logan’s eyes flashed. His “no” was a little more uncertain now. A little hesitant.

Even though he never did his homework or participated in class he kept getting ‘19’s instead of ‘20’s. 

“ _ How _ ?” Sei gritted.

“I’m just too pretty,” he responded.

Dolos stepped into the clearing in his smart three-piece suit the next day and expected Delilah to sweep him away. When he turned, though, he saw Roman’s name on top of the Ever list. Class captain…

Delilah looked, but she didn’t touch.

_ It wasn’t working _ .

He covered his scars in foundation and concealer and worked with it even though it stung. Delilah found this marginally better, since she clung onto him through Surviving Fairy Tales, but she switched to Roman midway through the challenge. He was good enough for appearances, then, but not in… what, practical application?

“You need to work harder,” Dolos said.

Virgil tied off a thread and cut it with his teeth, glaring slightly. Glaring at Dolos? Why? “I’m working as hard as I can. I have school, too, you know.”

“So?”

“I’m not dropping school.” He looked stressed. Tired. Overwhelmed. His copy of  _ Being a Gentleman  _ was perched on his knees. 

Dolos shouldn’t push him further. “Fine, then. We might never get home, but fine then.” He left with a brand-new look of a simple shirt with sleeves that only covered half of his arms, embroidered with yellow designs, a long pair of flowy pants, and a ranking of 100. It was fine. Beauty was a full time job, as he told Logan.

He didn’t have time for school.

This time, he accented his scars. Highlighted them in shades of red eyeliner and decided to own it. Delilah thought that was interesting—she said so during lunch, murmuring in his ear in the middle of a conversation with Roman’s friend, Leo (the tall one), too low for Roman to hear. He looked jealous. 

Dolos hoped he was jealous. 

Patton and Talyn wouldn’t stop glaring and, now, Terrence did, too. He pushed himself away from Roman for that to happen. Why? Social status had obviously been precious to him. Dangerous, dangerous. Could undermine Dolos’ plans.

“I just… don’t like how you treat Virgil,” said Terrence when Dolos confronted him about it.

“How he treats Virgil?” Roman scoffed. Delilah nodded, pouting her lips a bit like she’d been offended. “He treats Virgil exactly the way he should from what I’ve heard of him.”

“Do you even know him?” Terrence asked, sounding near-scandalised. Scandalised about what? Dolos was only doing what was expected of him. Nothing wrong with that.

“I do,” said Dolos, re-entering the conversation. Terrence shifted away from him—untrusting. Wary. Dolos would have to keep a close eye on him. “And, please understand, I’ve known him for a  _ long _ time. I know exactly what he’s like. It’s  _ you _ who doesn’t know him, not me _. _ He’s good at pretending, deluding himself into thinking he’s a Good person. He truly does not belong in your school.” Dolos did. He softened his face, though, made himself look gentle. Understanding. “Maybe you should seek a different opinion, if it makes you feel better? Talyn and Patton are... uninformed.”

“I will,” said Terrence, jutting out his chin. Dolos almost laughed. He knew what Terrence would find.

After all, as he’d said to Charles, and Edward, and Tiffany, and all the people of Roman and Delilah’s court, Virgil may wear the white swan, but all someone had to do was look at him to see he was a complete and utter  _ Villain _ .

But Delilah still looked unsure. She still hung off him only for appearances, only when it didn’t matter. And when it did, when it came down to it, she ditched him for  _ Roman _ .

What was stopping her from accepting him completely? What was blocking his path?

“I need that love potion,” Dolos said simply when Logan found their dorm room covered in scrawled love poems. 

His eyes flashed blue. “Fine.”

Dolos almost dropped his beaker. “Really?”

“Really?” similarly echoed Joan from behind Logan. “ _ Really _ ?”

“Yes,” said Logan shortly as he moved inside the room. “I’ll write my relatives for recipes tonight.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Joan demanded. Dolos kind of wanted to know that himself. After all, he had been asking for such a long time. Why would he suddenly give in?

“Probabilities.” Logan took out a sheet of paper and sat at his desk, dipping his pen in ink. He poked his tongue out a bit when he wrote—did he know he did that? “If this works, you’ll leave and no longer bother us. If it doesn’t, I get entertainment. If I don’t do it at all, you keep on this same track until you drag all of Evil down with your stupid…  _ shirts _ . And cummerbunds and—and bowties. I  _ hate _ bowties.”

“And lip glosses,” Joan added. “And hair combs. And  _ face _ . Just your face in general. I hate it.”

“That’s why I wear makeup,” said Dolos.

“Wear more, then.”

“You’re right. The world doesn’t deserve this natural beauty.”

“Yes, it’s much too cruel a punishment.”

“And a punishment you certainly deserve for inflicting that attitude on the poor, common populace.”

“So you agree that you’re common—”

Logan received a series of letters he tucked his nose into the ntext day and emerged with a scrabbled page of what looked like ingredients he sent Joan to find. Two days and a beaded top hat Virgil made later, and Logan handed him a heart-shaped arrow.

“Just—fire this at her,” he said, rubbing his eyes. 

“I like your eyebags. Are they designer?”

“Leave. And don’t come back.”

Dolos left, the arrow hidden in his tuxedo jacket, and arrived at lunch to find Delilah hanging off of Roman like one of those weeds that would wrap itself around a plant and slowly strangle it to death. 

He hid in the shadows, looking for an opening. Joan slipped him a rude gesture and a slingshot made of an Evergirl’s scarf. “Don’t mess it up,” he hissed.

“You have so little faith in me.”

“ _ Don’t mess it up _ .”

Dolos rolled his eyes and crept forward, sneaking through the dense foliage on the Ever side of the clearing. A twig scraped against his wrist as he pulled away some branches for a better shot. 

“...Talyn’s going to try and make her own dress, didn’t you hear?” asked Delilah. She didn’t wait for Roman’s response—he looked incredibly bored. Good. “Foolish of her. She doesn’t have the skill for it— _ or  _ the face— _ or  _ the body, for that matter.” She giggled and the girls laughed with her, even as some of them seemed uncomfortable. Delilah continued regardless. “She has access to the Groom Room but I never see her in there—where  _ does  _ she get those dyes? I swear the Groom Room only has  _ natural  _ colors—”

Dolos readied his shot.

“Sasha can sew,” sniffed Delilah. “But of course it’s fine for her because her  _ circumstances  _ make the act so much sweeter! She was raised poor, did you know? A classic peasant to princess situation.”

Dolos drew back the slingshot.

Delilah leaned back to laugh, placing her fingers lightly over her collarbone. The flowers on her collar fluttered in the breeze. He aimed for her heart.

“And of course that’ll bring any boy in—”

He fired. The arrow leapt forward, sailing through the gap in the trees he was hiding in. He stumbled out to watch it—

It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder, landing uselessly on the grass.

Delilah turned, her brow furrowed, and Dolos prepared a quick smile ( _ it didn’t work, had he missed, had he messed up, why didn’t it work what happened) _ and an excuse for her—

A tired sigh cut him off.

“Always one,” Dean Remy muttered. Dolos almost leapt out of his skin, whipping around as soon as he could towards the voice.

“ _ —how _ did you get here! When! What the heck!”

“There’s always one,” Remy just said. He snapped his fingers. “‘F’ is for failure. Love spells are against school conduct.”

“You tried a love spell?” but Delilah didn’t sound angry. She sounded impressed. Roman’s face had turned an angry reddish maroonish purple, but Delilah sounded impressed. Even as the Evers around them muttered and pointed,  _ Delilah sounded impressed _ . Why?

When Dolos looked down at himself, a bright red ‘F’ marred his shirt. He tried to rub it away, but it stuck like paint.

Great. 

  
  
  
  


“You tried a  _ love spell _ ?” Virgil hissed at him when Dolos waltzed through his door, dressed in his saggy Everboy uniform. How the owner kept carelessly leaving it in the laundry room was beyond him, but that wasn’t important.

“I need you to modify my next outfit a bit,” he said instead of responding, plucking at the bright red ‘F’ that had transferred onto his blue waistcoat. “Embroider something on the back like, ‘F is for Fantastic’ or whatever.”

“You’d just take away her agency like that?”

“Or, ‘ F is for Fabulous.’ Or—you can decide. I’m giving you this much freedom with  _ my  _ wardrobe already, I might as well give you some more room to have fun.”

“I can’t believe you’d do that!”

Dolos turned, mouth drawn down. “You’re the one who wanted her to fall in love with me.”

“ _ Of her own free will _ , Dolos.” Virgil sat on his bed, hands filled with sewing materials. “Why would you—”

“It wasn’t happening any other way,” Dolos grumbled. Why was Virgil having such a big problem with this? “It’s just a love potion, okay? You’re overreacting.”

Virgil stood up, half-made coat falling to the floor. It looked lower quality than usual—why? What was going on with that? “Can’t you see that—”

“ _ Virgil _ ,” Dolos interrupted. Fine then, if Virgil wouldn’t listen to reason.. He pushed Virgil back down to sitting and covered his mouth, Virgil’s eyes going wide with—fear? “I got the recipe in the library. If it was  _ in  _ the library, how bad could it be? They gave  _ students  _ access to it. Calm down.”

He hesitantly took his hand off.

“I—” Virgil bit his lip. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It just—sounds weird.”

“I know,” said Dolos. “But you have to trust me in this, okay?”

“Okay.”

He left with a coat jacket that trailed  _...F is for fearless _ and a promise to Virgil that he’d never try something like that love spell on him.

  
  
  


“The Snow Ball’s coming up,” he said at lunch, his shirt reading  _...is for fancy _ in sequins. Delilah quirked up her lips at him, tipping her pencil at the cluster of girls huddled under one of the trees. If he listened closely, he could hear smatterings of tens of conversations all happening at once, blending into each other in shades of gown planning, date plotting, romantic gossip and conniving about how to get Everboys to ask out specific Evergirls. 

“Really?” she asked wryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Funny.” He nudged his shoulder, shifting her head as she reclined against him. Roman watched on, a blank expression etched onto his face. “Have you figured out your dress yet?”

“Not yet,” she sighed, holding out her sketchbook. “See, the issue is that I have to coordinate with the others.” From the way she wrinkled her nose Dolos would never have guessed that  _ the others  _ were merely the other Evergirls and not vulture-like, slimey court officials. “If they weren’t around, I’d be as free as a bird.”

“Can’t you do what you want?”

“Of course she can’t,” Roman cut in.

Delilah raised a single, groomed eyebrow. “And you know more than he does?” 

“Of course I do!” scoffed Roman, and Dolos jerked his head in a  _ well, go on, then _ challenge. Chin up, Roman accepted. “Everything is very tightly connected. For instance, Terrence has been talking with Valerie a lot lately. If he asks her out, she’d probably wear something red and flowy. But then, nobody else could wear something red and flowy since they’d be too similar and I hear Evelyn has some gorgeous chiffon ball gown in scarlet she’s been dying to wear, and her friend Genevieve has her own eye on Terrence. But if Genevieve goes with Terrence, she’d wear her silver gown to go with her black hair and not her sea-foam green dress, and the green dress would go to Mary Grace since she’s expecting Nicholas to ask her. However, I heard Nicholas had been ogling Briar Rose’s portrait the other day—”

“Oh, do tell!” giggled Delilah, leaning off Dolos’ arm to place a fist under her chin. Dolos scowled.

“—so he might prefer blondes, in which case he might ask Evangeline, so then Mary Grace would wear Esmerelda’s powder blue tea-length dress and the green dress would go to Sasha. Sasha, though, is planning on sewing her own pink dress since she thinks Edwin will ask her and she wants to compliment his skin tone or something—but Edwin might ask Valerie, so then Valerie would get the pink dress and the red dress would go to Sasha since if Edwin doesn’t ask her then Edward might.”

“She has a thing for names that start with ‘Ed,’ then,” mumbled Delilah. 

“What if nobody asks Sasha?” asked Dolos, sliding his forearms onto his knees so he could still be close to Delilah.

Delilah laughed out a derisive, scoffing noise, examining her perfectly manicured nails. She’d painted them red that day to go with the red “F” on his shirt ( _ and yet she wouldn’t count on him when it mattered—) _ . “Then she’d automatically get a failing grade.”

“Is that fair?” 

“It’s life,” said Delilah, leaning back against him again. “If a girl doesn’t find a man in this world, it’s an automatic tragic ending for her. Our entire experience at this school is focused on finding that man and sticking with him.” She rubbed at a dull spot on her polish, sending him a condescending look. “We’re taught to run and call for help, love, not grab a sword and fight. The more power, more influence we have in our pocket, the better.”

“And you’re the bottom of your class,” said Roman snidely. Delilah’s responding glare was admonishing, but playful. She didn’t really mean it. She actually agreed with him.

When she and Roman left for their next class Dolos snuck a look at the rankings board in the Clearing. The Never’s side was draped with cobwebs and angrily carved into the wood, unlike the Ever’s. They always got everything nice…

  1. _Logan of Netherwood_
  2. _Sei of Piranha Lakes_
  3. _Dahlia of Ravenswood_
  4. _Joan of Bloodbrook_



And there, half-buried in the dirt, at the very bottom of the list, was,

  1. _Dolos of Woods Beyond_



Delilah wanted someone strong and influential. Somebody who she could count on to run to in a fight, somebody who’d protect her—not just from the physical aspect of things, but from the social. Dolos had been covering the social aspect just fine. Having a Never boyfriend would give her “good girl dating bad boy” status and the added ability to base her Goodness off of her kindness to him. “Look at me,” she could say. “I’m showing grace and mercy to this poor, misguided Neverboy. See how Good he’s become due to me? See how much I’ve helped him?” She could cite forbidden love and sparks of Good deep within him that only she could see. It would gain her instant popularity points. 

She couldn’t do that when he  _ looked  _ like a Never, of course. People were willing to see anything in somebody attractive, especially the good qualities, while ignoring the unflattering ones. The minute he stopped being flattering, they would turn against him.

But though he could protect her from the social threats, he wouldn’t be able to defend against physical or intellectual threats. His rank in Evil proved it—he made for a pretty face but had nothing to back it up. He was arm candy. Flavorful but lacking in nutrition. 

He needed some way to raise his rank while still maintaining his looks, or at least the shadow of them to remind people he was capable of such beauty. But when he wasn’t visiting Virgil to check on the status of his clothes, he was concocting makeups and pastes and powders to fix the damage Evil classes had on his skin and clothes. He was writing Delilah ballads and love poems and experimenting with eyeshadow, improving his once-hideous Evil appearance.

His eyes drifted to the Ever’s side.

  1. _Roman of Camelot_
  2. _Delilah of Pifflepaff Hills_
  3. _Patton of Rainbow Gale_
  4. _Leo of Nottingham_



And there, right there, right under Leo of Nottingham and above Talyn of Foxwood, 

  1. _Virgil of Woods Beyond_



_ Virgil _ of  _ Woods Beyond. _ Fifth. Fifth at  _ his school _ . Fifth when he was, apparently,  _ behind  _ on his schoolwork—behind enough to forget to sew pockets in Dolos’ dress pants—and too busy to make Dolos a beaded necklace.

Too busy to remember everything that he owed, everything Dolos deserved for helping him so much.

Dolos was going to have a word with him.

  
  
  
  
  


Virgil made an appearance at Surviving Fairy Tales, hanging in the back while Chir lined them all up. He refused to come closer even when Dolos made his impatient, glaring eyes at him. Fifth! Fifth, and at  _ his school! _

“For the Trial by Tale, you’ll need a few basic spells—to accomplish this, the Schoolmaster and your respective Deans have given me permission to unlock your fingerglow.”

Delilah immediately latched onto Roman, leaving Dolos on the Never’s side. 

Chir flipped a coin. Dolos didn’t see the outcome, but Chir sighed and said, “Nevers, right hands in the air.” He thrust the coin back wherever it had come from and grabbed Logan’s hand. Dolos couldn’t see from his angle, but he caught a flash of dark blue before Chir moved on. “There is no one way to do magic,” Chir continued as Sei glowed a turquoise. “Some spells need visualisation or an incantation or a funny little dance or the blood of your enemies. Some spells need hand flaps or foot taps or magic wands or wooden staffs.” Gert’s color was an ugly neon brown. Figured. “But there is one rule common to all magic.”

Chir grabbed his hand and held it up, fiddling with a tiny, white key about the length of a sewing needle.

“What are you—” Dolos didn’t get to finish. Chir thrust the key into Dolos’ index finger, a cold feeling spreading through his nail and jolting up his shoulder like somebody had poured water over him. The skin went translucent, and the key sank past tissue and muscle until the tip of it sank into Dolos’ first knuckle, the bone rotating as Chir turned the key. His finger tingled, the sort of sensation that happened when Dolos hit his funny bone, as his bone turned a full circle.

It flared a bright yellow and faded as Chir yanked the key out. Dolos stared at his finger incredulously.

“ _ Magic follows feeling _ . That’s the only rule. The basis of magic. When your finger glows, it means you have enough emotion to cast a spell. You can do magic then, and only then!”

Dolos stared down at his finger, trying to summon up some sort of emotion or feeling. But the only thing he was feeling was confusion—Chir moved right past Virgil like he was invisible. Soon other fingertips started to flicker, each a unique color. Delilah got a pastel pink. Roman was a deep, chivalrous red. 

In the corner, Dolos watched as Virgil closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and lit his fingertip a dark, flickering purple. 

“Like a wand, a fingerglow is just a training tool,” said Chir as Dolos tried to find a different feeling to focus on. At least Logan seemed to be having issues, too. “Once you’re in the Woods for real and have control, we’ll lock your fingers again and you won’t start lighting up like a Yuletide candelabra every time you need to cast a spell. In your first year we’ll only focus on three main categories—Weather Control, Water Manipulation, and Mogrification. We’ll be covering Mogrification today—”

A whip-crack of thunder interrupted him. Virgil shook out his fingerglow like he was tossing out a match and mumbled an apology.

Roman raised an eyebrow. “What in the name of Hercules was  _ that _ ?”

Dolos wanted to know, too. How could  _ Virgil _ accomplish something  _ he  _ couldn’t, and in such a short time too? 

“I… read ahead. In the book,” muttered Virgil. His fingerglow sputtered up again and he hid it behind his back.

Dolos seethed.  _ Pathetic. _

“...right.” Chir shook this off like it happened every year and moved on. “We’ll be covering Mogrification, both plant and animal. A simple visualisation spell—think of what you want to turn into and activate your fingerglow. Who wants to go first?”

A plethora of hands shot up, including Dolos’. 

“You will lose your clothes,” added Chir. 

The hands went down. 

He sighed. “Every time. I’ll just… call on people, I guess.”  
  


Dolos cornered Virgil at the end of class. “You got your glow unlocked early?”

Virgil shrank against the blooming blue flowers behind him, staring down at his hands. “Dean Picani did it for me.”

Dolos grabbed Virgil’s shoulder and led him back to the Schools, trailing behind the rest of the class. How to phrase this without insulting him outright… “Virgil, you know what I said about trust earlier, yeah?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Well, trust goes both ways. So, I would have liked for you to tell me these things so I can plan our escape more easily.” Virgil looked away, considering it, and Dolos pressed on. “If I had known your fingerglow was already unlocked I might not have bothered using the love spell on Delilah.”

Virgil’s head snapped up. “You didn’t tell me about  _ that _ !” he protested.

“I didn’t think you needed to know,” soothed Dolos. He took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “I didn’t think you’d care as much as you did.”

“It just… creeped me out.” Virgil flushed.

“I completely understand.”

“You do?”   
Dolos gave his best reassuring smile, the kind he gave to young kids in Gavaldon and after Virgil’s panic attacks, and Virgil visibly relaxed. “Of course,” Dolos said. “You thought the love spell would completely take away her choice to go with me to the Snow Ball. It was unnatural and weird and wrong. This love spell, though, was intended to just color her perception of me a little. Essentially the end result of what I was intending but without all of the work.”

Lies. All lies. Dolos had no idea what the love spell would do. It could have been permanent. It could have been damaging. Either way, it was definitely weird on principle.

_ “He’ll be heartbroken when he finds out.” _

Virgil wouldn’t find out. He wouldn’t.

“I… okay.” Virgil didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. Okay. I’m… sorry for not telling you about my fingerglow.”

“And I accept your apology.” Dolos flicked Virgil lightly on the nose, taking amusement from Virgil’s startled recoil. “Though I must say it’s a bit too dark to be royal.”

Virgil squawked. “It’s a perfect shade!”

“Evil advisor purple, Virgil. Creepy voodoo candle purple.”

“There’s nothing wrong with creepy voodoo candles!”

“They’re  _ creepy _ .”

“Not all of them!"

“The creepiness is in the  _ name _ .”

Virgil’s complaints dwindled off into a grumble—Dolos missed this, he realized. He’d  _ missed  _ their bickering and bantering and arguing. He’d missed Virgil talking back, conversing with him. Just like they used to. 

“I’m surprised you even had time to read ahead,” said Dolos. “I thought the whole reason you weren’t able to make me a silk cummerbund was because you were behind on schoolwork.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, casting his gaze down towards the ground. “I—I was—”

“Schoolwork you’d already finished and wasn’t assigned?”

“Dean Picani wanted me… to…” He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, dropping Dolos’ hand in the process. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just…it was interesting, and I didn’t want to let him down, and Professor Luphel was already… annoyed, and I don’t know what I did—”

“Virgil, I forgive you, okay?” Was Dolos jealous? Maybe a little, but that didn’t mean he was  _ lying _ about forgiveness. “Let’s move on from here.”

“How can I help?”

He could… he could… 

Dolos had already realized that his looks weren’t what was driving Delilah away. And she obviously didn’t care much about Goodness. Not looks, but…

Surely she didn’t want him to be good at being  _ Evil _ , right? That would…

That would raise both of their statuses. It would prove he was worth more than a pretty face. That he actually had a brain to back up his looks.

He didn’t want to be good at being Evil. He didn’t  _ want  _ to be…

  1. _Virgil of Woods Beyond_



“Do my homework,” said Dolos.

“What?” 

“Tutor me, at least. I need to be the top villain.”

Virgil stared at him, eyes blown wide. “...No! Are you… are you crazy?”

“What do you mean  _ no _ ?” Dangerous topic, Virgil. Dolos gripped his arm tightly.

“I—I don’t—that’s cheating,” Virgil settled. “I can’t…”

“Dean Picani likes you.” Although Dolos had no idea  _ why _ , but he did. “He won’t  _ punish  _ you if that’s what you’re worried about. Come on, this is a compliment. I had no idea you were actually so  _ good _ at faking Goodness.”

“...I’m not faking,” Virgil mumbled. Dolos almost laughed.

“Sure, Virgil.” That was the only explanation. Hey, at least Virgil was smart enough to pretend. “But, look, if you’re able to fake Goodness you could at least try to help me with Evilness.”

“I—”

“Virgil,  _ please _ .” Why was he being so stubborn? It was the perfect plan! “This is the only way to get back home.”

“Surely not the  _ only _ way,..”

“I would’ve already thought of the other options if there were any, Virgil.” Dolos watched Virgil’s eyes as they darted around the Blue Woods. He watched as Virgil’s eyebrows drew together and carefully considered Dolos’ proposition. They were running out of time.  _ He _ was running out of time. Every minute Virgil spent in that school was a mile he was growing away from Dolos and back into his old ways. Dolos was losing his grip on him. He needed to regain it.

Every minute Dolos spent in this school was a minute he wasn’t in Good.

He was a prince. A  _ prince _ . Everybody else should see it, too.

“...I’ll think about it,” Virgil finally said. “I’ll think about it.”

Dolos let go of his arm as they approached the clearing and the Evers and Nevers split off. “Think quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!!  
> Some notable things—  
> As Dolos grows more desperate, we’re moving further and further away from mere manipulation to straight up lies  
> If Virgil was to lean on Patton and Talyn more, he would start to realize how awful his friendship with Dolos is and start to draw away—their friendship was worked up in chapter 12 precisely for this reason, and so now Dolos is trying to break off those support systems so that Virgil really truly only has him in every sense of the word. But Patton and Talyn are too nice for any real dirt to be found so Dolos just created some out of thin air.  
> We are going faster!! But ch. 16 will recap most of this so don't worry, we'll be getting Virgil's POV soon enough!! :D  
> A couple people have expressed indignation about Delilah’s obvious gold-digging, so she explains it here. You’ll notice in the original SGE timeline that pretty much all of the princess’ classes are focused on getting help. Not helping themselves, but finding help in some way. Calling for animal aid, for instance, or securing a prince who’ll come rescue them. Beautification and princess etiquette and actually being Good. Unlike the Nevers, the girls’ only option is really just finding someone who’ll save them, and in order to do that, they have to be the most feminine and dainty-like princess they can be. That’s what Delilah is doing with Roman and Dolos—but she can’t choose since they’re both up-and-coming big players on the chessboard. Does she want to attach herself to a big name villain who could dissuade other villains (I think she does think of him as a villain)? Or does she want to attach herself to a currently-cruel, but high-ranking prince?  
> The love spell is to show how dedicated Dolos is at this point and Delilah admires it because that's what guys are expected to do in this world (be dedicated and, y'know, chase after the princess) plus she'd rather be in fake love than dead which is messed up but the truth. (You'll see later that once the competition gets harder and Roman and Dolos become equals in terms of influence and power, Delilah begins to take such things as chivalry into account. Who would treat her better? Who would give her a better life? The game starts to change and shift and Dolos will become in danger of being caught unawares. For now though, she's still considering determination and power. Who's stronger? Who _wants_ to be stronger?).  
> Long chapter! Yay! Long endnotes! Sorry!  
> It's doubtful Dolos realizes how much he relies on Virgil too—he’ll get a nasty shock when Virgil leaves.  
> The original book said the fingerglow didn’t have a feeling but that’s boring so we added it in.  
> Thank you again for reading! Sorry for the wait!!  
> \--Vaye


	16. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back, This Dance is Stupid Somebody Get Him a Therapist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, friends! Before we get started, I’d like to announce that in Scene Two, Virgil has a panic attack. The scene ends fairly quickly, and he calms himself down after, but we thought we should give you a heads up. Similarly, in Scene Eight, Virgil has a bit of an encounter with Professor Niel that leaves him shaken. The calming method ( _inhale for four_ ) comes back, but I don’t know if it counts as a panic attack at that point. We have asterisks before the aforementioned scenes.   
> All you need to know about them plot-wise is, for Two, that Virgil puts his trust in Dolos and believes Patton and Talyn are lying to him when they say they are his friends (like Dolos said), and, for Eight, that Professor Niel continues to be the worst and escalates his treatment of Virgil slightly, which is certainly not helping his mental health.  
> Also, pretty much this whole chapter is an exploration of the effects Dolos has had on Virgil. As I believe we have said before, the more people Virgil has by him the less strong Dolos’ manipulation is—therefore, now that Virgil is cutting off from the people he had gathered from Good, Dolos’ effects are much stronger. If that is a trigger for you, I advise caution here. (You’re welcome to skip the marked scenes! You won’t miss much in terms of general plot, promise!)  
> I hope this helps, and if there’s anything more we can do for you, please let us know in the comments! We’re happy to make any accommodations you need. I hope you enjoy the chapter!  
> —Vaye Rue

Dolos didn’t lie. 

Virgil knew that for a fact. The sky was blue, his hair was a shade too dark, and Dolos would never lie to him. Never. After all, they needed to trust each other for this all to work, and he had never given the other a reason to lie… Yeah.

Dolos wasn’t a liar. 

And so when Virgil asked, “are we friends?” to the air one day, Patton’s affirmative response had to be untrue.

“Are you sure?”

“...yeah, pretty sure.”

Lie.

“Like… really, truly friends? You aren’t…” Virgil’s laugh was dry and bitter, and he knew his face had grown cynical to match. “You aren’t tricking me?”

“No! Of course not! I’d never do that to you!”

_ Lies. All lies _ .

Virgil pricked his finger on his needle. “Good,” he said. “Good…”

Dolos would never lie to him. Dolos said that Patton and Talyn… were pretending. Lying. Only pretending to like him, to be his friends. They were  _ lying _ . 

Were they? No, they had to be. But  _ were  _ they? His head hurt. His heart hurt. He pricked his finger again. Something inside him told him they weren’t. They were his friends, his real, true friends. 

But, then, Dolos would be the one lying.

And if he was the one lying… 

Virgil didn’t know what to _think_.

******

“I hear Beast is dead,” said Talyn, bleached hair slowly staining the towel draped around their—her—their shoulders and looking a bit like a molting bird as she re-dyed her hair red.

“How did you even get in here?” asked Patton. "Aren't there wards on the staircases?"

“I’m more powerful than Picani will ever be.”

“Ah,” said Patton, nodding wisely as he underlined something in his textbook. He could do that? Virgil bit his lip and fingered the page of  _ Being a Gentleman _ . He wouldn’t dare. “I knew it.”

“It’s the hair,” she—they—she said. “It’s where my magic comes from.”

“That’s why Virgil is so smart.” Patton’s smile was brighter than any flame. Something recoiled deep in Virgil’s chest, twisting and folding in on itself in nerves. “His hair is full of knowledge.”

“I’m… not smart.” If he was, Dolos would’ve said something about it.

Something wetly slapped onto his head. He peeled the damp towel off his head and limply held it away from his head. “What was that for?” 

Talyn didn’t look sorry. Not at all.

“You seem to be unaware of how incorrect that statement is,” she—they—she announced. “Therefore, every time you say something self-deprecating, I will let you know.”

_ “Isn’t it better to have real friends? True friends?” _

Virgil had to ask. “Why?”

Talyn, who was in the middle of adjusting her—their—her towel, stared at him. “...Because I care about you and I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like you’re worthless when you’re not?”

Lying. They were lying. Why was everyone so keen on lying to him? “You don’t know that.”

“I’ve seen your grades, Virgil,” said Patton, his eyebrows getting a concerned, little wrinkle over his glasses. “You’re really smart. Trust us.”

_ “I doubt anyone at this School truly sees you.”  _

“No,” said Virgil. His breath wasn’t coming in right. He was breathing enough; oh, he was definitely breathing enough. Enough for Patton to half-lift himself off his bed. Enough for Talyn to take a worried step forward. But none of the air filled his lungs. “No, I’m not. I’m not  _ Good _ . I’m not good at being Good, that isn’t—I’m not— _ stop being so kind to me! _ ”

_ “I don’t deserve your kindness either.” _

“Why?” Talyn demanded. Virgil had never seen them—her angry before. Not like this. Not at  _ him _ . “Why not? We’re your friends, Virgil. We’re your friends, and we’ve been worried about you for a while now, actually.”

“Yeah,” echoed Patton. “Yeah, I… I don’t think Dolos is healthy for y—are you okay?”

No, Virgil wasn’t okay. He wasn’t sure what he was, but he  _ wasn’t okay _ . If he’d been standing, he would have fallen by now. Something, somebody was wrapping a vice around his chest and squeezing it, constricting his lungs, he  _ couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe _ he was going to throw up he couldn’t breathe—

“Virgil,” someone, anyone, Talyn? said, “Breathe, breathe with me, okay?” but that was the problem because he  _ couldn’t _ , not when his lungs were shriveling to black, dead things in his chest and his ribs were closing up like a cage around them and his heart was beating maniacally and insanely and  _ he couldn’t breathe _ —

His hands were slick with sweat. Tears dripped down his face, he felt the wet streaks dribbling down his chin and staining somebody’s shoulder—he couldn’t tell who because his vision—which was darkening, blackening, swirling with gray spots like the color of the back of his eyelids and— _ fear _ .

He couldn’t _ see he couldn’t feel what was happening _ -

Something was coming.

Some _ one _ was coming.

Someone was coming and it was going to be horrible and awful and horrible and everyone would die and  _ Dolos would die  _ because these people weren’t his friends and—

_ “I don’t think Talyn and Patton have your best interests in mind when they… act friendly with you.” _

“Get off,” he snarled, hands _ holding his shoulders steady as they heaved with sobs _ . He didn’t have much breath to spare, but any he did have he’d use on this. The fear curdled in his gut, the butterflies setting themselves on fire.

“Virgil, we—”

“ _ Get  _ **_away_ ** _ from me! _ ” He shoved whoever was holding him, clutching his chest through the pain, the fear, the agony mixing together in his mind. He scrambled off the bed and hit the floor hard. 

He ran for a place to hide. An act. This was all an act, Dolos was right wasn’t he, he was always right—

_ “fake friends who’d never want someone like  _ you.”

“Virgil!”

He slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.   
  
  
  
  


The tile felt cold underneath him. His long cloak puddled around him, the black shades a stark comparison against the white tile. White and gold. His fingers plucked absently at a chip in the marble.

Patton and Talyn were arguing. 

_ Inhale for four. _

“It must be Dolos,” Talyn said, voice muffled by the door. “It  _ must  _ be.”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” mourned Patton. His voice sounded thick. Had he been crying? Did Virgil make him cry?

Patton was the sweetest person he had ever met.

Virgil was evil if he made Patton cry.

His cheeks were still damp. 

Or was Patton evil for making Virgil cry? 

Dolos made Virgil cry sometimes. Dolos wasn’t evil.

Maybe Virgil just deserved it.

_ Hold for seven _ .

“Dolos is going to play this up,” said Talyn. Her ( _ her her her Dolos was right _ ) footsteps echoed around the room, coming close and fading away. Pacing. “He’s going to blame this on us.”

“We hurt him,” said Patton. “We hurt him and—he’s  _ hurt _ , Talyn.” He sounded miserable. Was it bad Virgil hoped he was miserable? Virgil made him miserable—

“We should have backed ourselves up. We should have—I don’t know, prepared this more!”

“He had a panic attack, Talyn—he won’t come out of the bathroom, and _ we _ did that. We can’t say that this was Dolos’ doing.”

Virgil leaned his head back against the wall. Dolos was right. Dolos was always right. 

_ Exhale for eight _ .

Lunch was going to be over soon, and then Talyn and Patton would leave, and Virgil could go back into his dorm room and cry into his pillow.

_ “Princes don’t cry _ .”

_ “Crying isn’t princely.” _

He wasn’t a prince, though. If he was, he wouldn’t be sitting in a sea of black and purple cloth, bile still coating his tongue from when he threw up, and a sick feeling in his mind. Patton and Talyn were mad at him. Patton and Talyn were planning to—manipulate him?

They were never his friends. They were  _ never  _ his friends…

The voices faded completely, but Virgil couldn’t stand yet. 

_ Inhale for four _ .

Something in his heart hurt.

  
  
  
  


He snuck his books into the bathroom and refused to leave when Patton was around. Terrence was worse.

“Stop sticking up for him,” Terrence groaned. Virgil quietly sewed in the bathroom, the bathtub filled with blankets. He was being a bother, but he couldn’t be bothered to leave. He was protected here.

“No!” exclaimed Patton. Virgil tried not to listen, but he had to. He pressed his hands over his ears, but that did nothing. “He isn’t  _ Evil _ .”

“He’s a witch,” said Terrence. “Everybody hates you because you say otherwise. You’ve noticed that, right? Not even Prof. Niel could spare you from this now.”

“I—”

“Whatever. I tried to warn you.” Something banged against the bathroom door—Terrence’s fist—and Virgil jumped and choked back a yelp because  _ SLAM “Just say you don’t know next time. Then we could at least pretend you’re smart.” _

“I know you’re in there,  _ witch _ ,” Terrence spat. Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers through his hair. “I rescind my offer of friendship. Learn your own drills and leave Patton alone.” 

_ Weak, needy, witch. _

He was dropping in the rankings. Should he care?  _ Yes _ , a tiny, pleading voice whispered.  _ No _ , the rest of him rasped, because all he wanted to do was leave. He wasn’t supposed to be good at being Good. He was supposed to be a cape-swishing anti-hero at best.

A villain at worst.

He stabbed his finger with the needle and flung the jacket away so he wouldn’t bleed on it, holding his finger up like that would hinder the blood at all. He rushed his finger into the bathroom and ran it under the tap, watching red swirl around in the marble basin.

He was #4 on the rankings a few days ago. Patton said so. Before Patton… Before Talyn…

Before they said they cared about him.

“I’m worried about you,” Picani said, crossing his legs. The armchair threatened to swallow Virgil whole.

“Don’t be.” He wasn’t worth Picani’s thoughts.

“You’re putting your education at risk for Dolos,” Picani said anyway, noting the uncomfortable scrunch of Virgil’s eyebrows.

“Are you going to tell me he’s unhealthy too?”

“Has somebody said that?”

“Talyn and Patton.”

“Do you think they’re wrong?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

Picani just made a quiet, “hmm” sound that made the tiny, pleading voice rise up again. 

_ “None of us deserve kindness. That’s… why we give it, I think.” _

Virgil wasn’t worth this kindness. Patton and Talyn were playing with him. Toying with him. As cruel as—as Roman. 

_ “All hail! Emperor of fools!" _

It wasn’t cruel if he deserved it. 

It was simply... what he was due. Dolos said so. Karma.

“You think the same,” Virgil said, voice dull. He stared at the desk. It fogged in front of him, vision going blurry with—tears?

_ “Princes don’t cry." _

Picani stayed silent. 

_ Breathe in for four _ . 

“I think, despite his well-wishes, he is unknowingly causing you distress.”

Virgil’s heart rate picked up. Took off. Flapped into the air and soared around his frozen brain.

“Good-bye, sir.”   
  


His rank dropped two more spots. It used to be #10. Now #12. He refused to talk to Patton. He never had to refuse to talk to Terrence—Terrence never tried.

“You’re distracted,” said Samir. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Virgil shortly, his sword trapped next to his chest as he rubbed his wrist. A trickle of sweat roamed down his face by his ear.

“That’s the second time I got you there.”

“I’m fine.”

“Using the exact same trick.”

Was it just him, or was Samir shorter with him than usual? Snappier. Snappish. He clenched his hand around his grip. “I’m  _ fine _ .”

“You cut Patton out.”

“He wasn’t my friend.”

“Oh.”

Virgil waited for Samir to say something on that. But Samir just tapped his knees to get him to bend them, settled back down into his stance, and said, “again?”

Somehow, it seemed annoyed.

Virgil was sparring desperately, feral, hacking angrily instead of slicing or cutting. Aggressive. They’d been working on bringing out his offensive side, not his aggressive side. But Virgil was just—so— _ angry and sad and angry and confused and betrayed and confused and confused and ANGRY _ and he didn’t care about how awful his form was or how the area under his eyes seemed to be producing more sweat (those were tears weren’t they) than normal. Samir noticed, though. Virgil knew he’d noticed.

Neither of them brought it up.

******

Virgil knew this had been a bad idea.

_ SLAM. _

“I’m sorry,” said Ethann Niel, “you want me to  _ what _ ?”

“I—”  _ bad idea, bad idea. _

“No, no.” Ethann leaned his head into his hands, shoulders shaking. He was laughing. “You—you want me to—you’re failing!”

Virgil flushed red. Behind him, the few stragglers who hadn’t yet left class snorted giggles and mocking faces.  _ I’m failing because you’re failing me _ , but he couldn’t say that. He just shifted on his heels and bit his lip, wishing he could go back in time and stop himself from asking.

“I know I can’t ask for decent work, but I’d at least like to see something mediocre before I give you future curriculum,” Ethann said, still choking back laughter. 

“Dean—”

“I’ll believe your lies about the Dean when he tells me himself,” he interrupted. He glanced towards the door and waved the group of Evers who hadn’t yet left over. “Somebody tell him, he doesn’t seem to understand when I speak.”

They laughed, but none of them stepped forward. 

Virgil wanted to  _ run _ , he wanted to  _ hide _ , he  _ knew _ this was a bad idea. “No, that’s—fine,” he said quickly, trying to push his way to the door, “I get it, you don’t need to—” 

_ SLAM. _

Virgil flinched away, hands to his ears, and the group let out a high, startled laugh, eyes widened with—no, that wasn’t shock, that was  _ amusement _ . They thought Virgil’s reaction was funny, and Virgil lowered his hands and stuffed them in his pockets even though now the shells of his ears were red and he wanted to cover them. 

“Stay,” Ethann ordered. “You obviously don’t understand your place here.”

Tears pricked at Virgil’s eyes, and he hastily blinked them back. “Yes, sir,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re a villain,” called Roman simply. “We all know there was a mixup, what’s the point in hiding it?”

“Ah, come on,” one of them muttered, Virgil couldn’t see who. Terrence. “How would we fare if one of us got mixed up in the wrong school? He’s obviously not a very  _ good _ villain.”

Roman barked another laugh and shook his head, shoving his way out the door. Terrence gave Virgil a single pitying smile and followed.

Ethann leaned forward. “Learn your place,” he said lowly. “Or I’ll find a way to put you in the Doom Room.”

_ Dolos hadn’t come back, Patton said he hadn’t appeared at lunch, where was he was he okay where was he he walked through the door and cleared his throat and Virgil jumped, startled, and there he was, that stupid wonderful raised eyebrow and his FACE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS FACE the cuts stretched from lip to ear and hurt it must have hurt his face what happened to his face he got off lightly Virgil knew _ —

“If it was up to me,” Ethann continued, staring into Virgil’s eyes and dissecting every strand, every fiber of Virgil’s being and finding it all  _ lacking _ , “you wouldn’t be at this school at all. Your presence is putting us all in danger,  _ got it? _ I don’t know why Dean Picani likes you, but if I had my way, you’d be left in the woods for the Stymphs and nothing would be lost in the School for Good.”

Virgil’s mouth was dry. “Got it, sir.”

“Now leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned, mind blank and repeating,  _ Nothing would be lost in the School for Good, left in the woods for the Stymphs, you’re a villain you’re a villain nothing would be lost in the School for Good  _

_ SLAM. _

Virgil’s hands flew back to his ears, and he left the Chivalry and Grooming classroom with Ethann’s chuckling on loop in his brain. His heart pounded. 

_ Inhale for four. _   
  


The bathroom was nice, but he couldn’t stay there forever. “ _ I know hiding in your graveyard is comforting for you, but it does have some disadvantages when it comes to knowing how people act and society’s unwritten laws.” _

Eventually he emerged and kept to his bed, staring out the window and sewing. Niel kept lowering his grade on the stupidest things, keeping him just barely above a “20” so he wouldn’t get failed. But he pulled up his rank in the other classes, keeping himself afloat.

He told Dolos he wouldn’t be sacrificing his schoolwork, and he wouldn’t be failing. He wouldn’t turn into a name on a plaque.  _ He refused. _

Dolos wouldn’t talk to him… but that was in his right.

He carefully tied off his thread and cut it off with his teeth, holding up his finished jacket and shaking it out.

From the other side of the room, Patton gently cleared his throat. “When… did you learn to sew?”

Virgil didn’t want to answer him. It was the polite thing to do (Dolos would). “I lived in a graveyard. You’re stupid if you thought I didn’t have to.”

Patton sounded sad when he said, “...right.” but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care. Fake. All fake. All  _ lies _ .

He went back to glancing out the window, moving from the jacket to a snazzy bowtie. Dolos wanted sequins—the nymphs had stolen him a box full from an Evergirl—and so sequins Dolos would have.

A court, Dolos called it. Roman and Delilah’s court. Watching the groups of Evers below, Virgil could understand the term. Six, seven maybe, Evergirls and around the same number of Everboys crowded around Roman and Delilah, chattering, spread out in a half-circle. Virgil pricked his finger lightly and ignored the sharp sting. It faded as he kept watching.

Dolos wasn’t there yet. Where was he? Virgil usually always saw him by Delilah’s right side, escorting her like an old-fashioned gentleman. But today he was gone.

Maybe he was lost in the crowd somewhere… no, there was Logan and Joan, pointing and whispering. Talyn was there, too, off on her own with her roommates.  _ Her, her, her _ . The pronoun felt weird in his mouth.

He used it in front of her, once. Just once. The look in her eyes was physically painful.

He got around it by not talking to her, or about her. That hurt almost even more. But they weren’t his friends. They never had been.  _ Dolos was right _ .

Dolos was always right.

But where was he? Virgil peered out the window, searching for him among Roman’s court. It was only by sheer luck he happened to be looking there, just in time to catch Dean Remy step out of the haze created by the sun’s glare. 

The glass walls weren’t soundproof. In fact, they let sound travel through them really easily. Even at this height Virgil could hear snippets of muffled conversation.

“What was that?”

“Dean Remy?”

“...Evelyn!”

“Delilah!”

“Roman!”

“What’s going on?”

“A  _ love _ spell?”

Virgil dropped his stitching.

  
  
  
  


Virgil rushed to his feet the moment Dolos waltzed through the door, hissing, “You tried a  _ love spell _ ?” 

“I need you to modify my next outfit a bit,” he said, completely ignoring what Virgil had said. “Embroider something on the back like, ‘F is for fantastic’ or whatever.”

“You’d just take away her agency like that?” Her free will, her  _ choice _ —would he do that to Virgil if he could?

“Or, ‘F is for fabulous.’ Or—you can decide. I’m giving you this much freedom with  _ my  _ wardrobe already, I might as well give you some more room to have fun.”

“I can’t believe you’d do that!” Dolos was supposed to be right, Good,  _ princely _ , and this was a—this was what a witch would do. This was what  _ he  _ was supposed to do, not Dolos, and—

Dolos made his face, with those eyes, and Virgil knew he’d never listen. “You’re the one who wanted her to fall in love with me.”

“ _ Of her own free will _ , Dolos.” Virgil couldn’t stand anymore. He sat on the bed, cross-legged and fiddling with Dolos’ jacket. “Why would you—”

“It wasn’t happening any other way,” Dolos grumbled. “It’s just a love potion, okay? You’re overreacting.”

Virgil stood, half-made coat falling to the floor.  _ Overreacting _ ? “Can’t you see that—"

“ _ Virgil _ ,” Dolos interrupted. He shoved Virgil back onto the bed, eyes spitting—Virgil angered him. He angered Dolos—Dolos was angry and Virgil’s eyes sank to the floor, heart fluttering and cowering inside his chest. “I got the recipe in the library. If it was  _ in  _ the library how bad could it be? They gave  _ students  _ access to it. Calm down.”

He let his hand drop. 

“I—” Virgil couldn’t stand that look of utter disgust. Like if he stayed in Dolos’ way he’d get trampled. He didn’t agree. He’d  _ never  _ agree. But he would say he did, for Dolos, for himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It just—sounds weird.”

“I know,” said Dolos, and now everything was softened. Virgil breathed more easily. “But you have to trust me in this, okay?”

“Okay.”

He stayed around while Virgil made the modifications to Dolos’ jacket. Virgil had to fight his yawns. He’d stayed up late working and sewing and avoiding Patton again. Picani said he had a surprise if he made it past Unit Six this week. 

“Just…”

Dolos turned, a look of surprise gracing his face, and waited for Virgil to finish.

“Just don’t ever use something like that on me? Promise?”

His smile was cloying and slick. “I promise, Virgil.”

Somehow, Virgil didn’t fully believe him.

  
  
  


“Surprise!”

Virgil stared. Picani froze there, waggling the swan-shaped key in front of Virgil’s face, waiting for Virgil’s reaction.

If only Virgil knew what on earth he was reacting  _ to _ .

“Do you like it?” he probed.

“It’s... a key.”

“Yeah!”

“No offense, sir, but why would I need a key?”

Picani pouted, reminding Virgil jarringly of Patton. “Think about it. What does a key do?”

“It… unlocks things.” Picani nodded encouragingly, so Virgil continued. “You’re giving me a key so I can unlock something… and what I’ll get once I unlock it, I’ll like?”

“Exactly! Hold out your right hand.”

“I’m left-handed. Does that matter?”

Picani faltered, thinking about it. “I… don’t know.”

Weren’t teachers supposed to know everything? Picani shrugged, gently took Virgil’s left hand, and, flourishing the key, inserted it into his index finger. 

Virgil gasped as a cold, tingly feeling spread out from where his skin turned translucent, watching semi-shocked as the bit sank up to his first knuckle and rotated his bone. Painless. But  _ weird. _

His finger flashed purple. The color of his hair before it faded. Dark. Bruise-like. Almost black. 

He stared at it incredulously. “What was  _ that _ ?”

“That was your fingerglow,” chirped Picani, clapping his hands. Again, Patton. “It’s essentially like a magic wand—but in your finger. Everybody has a unique glow! It’ll get locked again when you leave school, so don’t worry about figuratively turning into a firefly every time you have to cast a spell.”

“What was yours?” Was that too personal?

“Kind of a sky-ish blue,” Picani said. Virgil really did love his smile. “Start practicing some spells, yeah?”

“Okay!”

  
  
  
  


Of course Dolos would be betrayed. What was all that about trust earlier? But Virgil had never gotten a chance to tell him. 

His finger glowed, pulsing in tune with his anxiety. He should think of something else. He should focus on the lecture—no, he already knew all of this, Gert was shrinking, squirming into a rat with a pile of clothes and he already knew all of this. He had to think of  _ something else _ .

But then the lecture was over—since when?—and Dolos was backing him into a tree, too close to his face and too far away. 

“You got your glow unlocked early?”

Flowers peeked out around him—one fell over his eye. He stared at his hands. “Dean Picani did it for me.”

Dolos grabbed Virgil’s shoulder roughly, leading him behind the rest of the group. Virgil felt like he was being interrogated. He was under scrutiny. He was— _ danger _ . Dolos chewed on his words, seeming to consider what to say. “Virgil, you know what I said about trust earlier, yeah?”

“Y-yeah…” He knew what was coming.

“Well, trust goes both ways. So, I would like for you to tell me these things so I can plan our escape more easily.” Virgil looked away, letting the words he’d already thought of wash over him. “If I had known your fingerglow was already unlocked, I might not have bothered using the love spell on Delilah.”

He didn’t get to use that. He shouldn’t get to use that here. “ _ You _ didn’t tell me about  _ that _ !” he snapped.

“I didn’t think you needed to know,” said Dolos. He took one of Virgil’s hands, squeezing his fingers. Virgil’s heart rate jumped. “I didn’t think you’d care as much as you did.”

“It just… creeped me out.” It sounded embarrassing to admit.  _ Was  _ he overreacting?

“I completely understand.”

Virgil glanced up through his lashes. “You do?”   


Dolos looked so  _ genuine _ . So kind. How could Virgil have ever thought he was in danger? “Of course. You thought the love spell would completely take away her choice to go with me to the Snow Ball. It was unnatural and weird and wrong. This love spell, though, would just color her perception of me a little. Essentially the end result of what I was intending but without all of the work.”

Oh.

“I… okay.” He jerked his head up. Oh. Oh, okay. He  _ had  _ been overreacting (Dolos was always right). His cheeks heated up even more. “Okay. Okay. I’m… sorry for not telling you about my fingerglow.”

“And I accept your apology.” Dolos flicked Virgil lightly on the nose, and Virgil blinked back, startled. “Though I must say it’s a bit too dark to be royal.”

Virgil squawked, offended, but that line pulled him back into their friendship and he couldn’t help but smile at the insult. “It’s a perfect shade!”

“Evil advisor purple, Virgil. Creepy voodoo candle purple.”

“There’s nothing wrong with creepy voodoo candles!”

“They’re  _ creepy _ .”

“Not all of them!”

“The creepiness is in the  _ name _ .”

“Names aren’t everything,” Virgil grumbled, but Dolos was just staring at him with this fond, amused smile in his eyes, and Virgil’s heart melted. 

“I’m surprised you even had time to read ahead,” said Dolos. “I thought the whole reason you weren’t able to make me a silk cummerbund was because you were busy with schoolwork.”

“I—I was—”

Dolos raised an eyebrow. “Schoolwork you’d already finished and wasn’t assigned?”

He had to explain this. “Dean Picani wanted me… to… I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… interesting and I didn’t want to let him down and Professor Luphel was already annoyed and—I don’t know what I did—”

“Virgil, I forgive you, okay?” He didn’t sound like he did. Virgil ran his hands over his arms, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Let’s move on from here.” But he was willing to put this behind him.

Better than nothing. But Virgil had to make this up to him, somehow.“How can I help?”

He waited expectantly while Dolos thought, feeling the embroidery on the hems of his sleeves.

What would he say? What would he make Virgil do?

The wait was killing him.

No—what would  _ Virgil _ do?  _ Anything, _ he wanted to say. He’d do anything for Dolos. His only friend, now. His best friend. The only person Virgil could trust.

He wanted to say  _ “anything _ . _ ” _

But obviously, he realized, not  _ anything _ . Not murder. He wouldn’t kill somebody. He wouldn’t hurt somebody—he wouldn’t hurt Patton or Talyn. They hurt him, but that was expected of them. He’d expected that, almost. Or, at least, he should have. Why had he thought the School for Good would be anything different from Gavaldon?

At least he still had Dolos.

“Do my homework.”

Virgil jolted. “What?” 

“Tutor me, at least. I need to be the top villain.”

_ What _ ? Virgil’s mind struggled to wrap around this— “no!”

“What do you mean  _ no _ ?” Dangerous topic. Virgil hated telling Dolos no.

But how to— _ explain _ .

“I—I don’t—that’s cheating,” he settled. “I can’t…”

“Dean Picani likes you.” Dolos scowled. “He won’t  _ punish  _ you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was the last thing Virgil was worried about.

“Come on, this is a compliment. I had no idea you were actually so good at faking Goodness.”

“...I’m not faking,” Virgil said, recoiling. He wasn’t—wasn’t he, though? He’d been doing so well but—what if—Dolos was right. Dolos was always right.

“Sure, Virgil.” The skepticism soaked through Virgil’s eyes and squirmed its way into his brain. Dolos heaved a sigh. “But, look, if you’re able to fake Goodness, you could at least try to help me with Evilness.”

_ No. _ “I—”

“Virgil,  _ please _ .” Dolos looked so desperate. Virgil felt his resolve weakening. “This is the only way to get back home.”

“Surely not the only way.”  _ Please, let there be another way... _

“I would have thought of the other options, Virgil.” Oh, but of course he would have. Dolos was always right. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said. He’d think about it—but he couldn’t ask Picani for advice. And he couldn’t ask Samir for advice (Samir was mad at him, why was he mad—).

Alone. He was alone again.

But at least he had Dolos.

Dolos let go of his arm. “Then think quickly.”

Virgil would.

  
  
  
  


He hadn’t been practicing Mogrification. The spell was supposed to turn him into any animal he pictured for an hour—but at the cost of his clothes, which would not carry with him through the spell, unlike when the teachers transfigured him for challenges. The more powerful he was, the longer the spell would last, and he would be able to pick and choose what transformed with him, but he was weak, and there were no teachers nearby (what if he got stuck?). He wasn’t brave enough to try something like that.

So he hadn’t.

But now he flipped through his textbook, looking for the chapter on Mogrification. Patton and Terrence were both asleep. 

He didn’t want to do this. He was betraying Picani’s trust—Picani’s smile. Didn’t this just prove everything everyone thought? If Ethann found out about this… he’d be failed for sure.

But he had to. Dolos said it was the only way.  _ Dolos was always right _ . It made a pit open up in his stomach. Everyone who’d been nice to him. Everyone who’d put their faith in him, who’d given him the benefit of the doubt and  _ hadn't taken it back _ —he was betraying them. Stabbing them in the back.

What if he was good at being  _ Evil _ ? What did that mean for him?

He hated this so much. 

Carefully, quietly, he slid towards the bathroom, bag full of paper and pens and a change of clothes and a snack at the ready, placing his feet selectively against the carpet so he didn’t rustle any of Patton’s methodically chaotic study tornado of notes. 

Of course he’d fail at being quiet as well.

He promptly tripped, landing sprawled in the bathroom with his face smacking against the tile.

_ “A ghost cannot rest until it has fulfilled its purpose, whatever that may be, in whatever form it may take.” _

Virgil gasped and whirled, the room flooded with soft blue light and a quiet, calm voice speaking as though underwater, half-muted. 

_ “Ghosts can manifest their presence in many forms, such as hiding in the body of a person, usually a seer, necromancer, or oracle, though often it lasts mere moments before both seer and spirit are destroyed.” _

September Aldin’s talking, holographic history book, sped up to twice the speed for cram-studying because Terrence forgot his exam that morning.

_ “Ghosts may also take the shape of symbols or objects, manifesting in paintings, marks (magical tattoos and the like), or statues, and are essentially dormant until they are summoned. Therefore, Markus of Babbling Brooks could not have taken action had Lady Elinor not summoned him, leading to the controversy still discussed today.” _

Patton muttered something in his sleep and Virgil crept closer, boards squeaking under his feet and only adding to the noise—

_ “Chapter fourteen. The Hurricane of Borealis and the Origin of the Crow as an Omen. In—” _ Virgil slammed the book shut and fled into the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind him.

Mogrification. He tried to calm his breath. Mogrification. No, he should hyperventilate. The more anxious he got, the more his finger glowed. What animal to turn into? What should he be?

His heart pounded. Dark, purple light spread over the tiled walls. His skin itched and bubbled and his bones popped and reshaped themselves and he shrank into his clothes.

He hopped out the bathroom window a sleek, malevolent crow.

  
  
  
  


Dolos pushed the window open and Virgil dropped a piece of paper in his face.  _ Common room. Five minutes. I’ll help. _

  
  
  
  


As it turned out, Virgil couldn’t speak in crow form. He tried, he squawked and shrieked and chattered, but it seemed like all Dolos could hear were crow noises. 

They were only able to get through half of the assigned chapter from  _ Curses & Death Traps _ , mainly because Dolos refused to read the chapters he’d missed for context and Virgil had to play crow-charades to explain everything, when Virgil turned back in a poof of black feathers.

He disappeared behind a couch and slid on his spare uniform, listening to Dolos’ grumbles. He emerged with a cracker shoved in his mouth and pushed the book back into Dolos’ face. “Come on. When creating a Borealis Charm, you need…?”

“I don’t know, an icicle, a feather, and a will to live or something,” mumbled Dolos, face-down on the couch and already looking done with this.

“A feather, an icicle, and a…?”

“A hatchet…”

“...no.”

“An axe?”

“A tomahawk.”

“Same difference.”

“No, because this spell is native to the culture of—”

“How do you even know all this?” he groaned, wriggling around to stare desolately at the leaking ceiling. The Never towers really were disgusting. 

“I…” Virgil shifted on the ground, crossing his legs under him. “I read a lot.” True, technically. “My… Adrestia had a lot of… books.” He’d never questioned why. Should he have?

Probably.

But he didn’t at the time, and he couldn’t ask her now, so he really should stop thinking about it.

Dolos was clearly judgmental about that based on his raised eyebrow and just overall smug demeanor, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care. “So, Borealis weather summoning charm.”

“I thought we were supposed to be working on Mogrification,” Dolos said instead.

“Yes,” said Virgil patiently, “but you don’t have your fingerglow yet, and weather control has more theory involved than Mogrification. Mogrification is all practical application.”

“It’s yellow. I saw it when it was unlocked.” He wrinkled his nose. “Gaudy yellow.”

“Focus, please.”

  
  


At least it was working for Dolos. Grades-wise, he was steadily going up, rising from #120 to just touching #80 in two days. Looks-wise, he was deteriorating, devoting less time to his various poultices and potions and more to studying. His clothes had gone back to his standard school uniform as well, the rumpled, tattered tunic-and-leggings combo. Unlike Logan, he was  _ not  _ allowed to accessorize, apparently, a fact he bemoaned without prompting.

He said that didn’t matter. “I’ve made enough of an impression on them!” he laughed. “The shadow of it still hangs over me—as long as they don’t forget what I’m capable of, they’ll disregard this… regression.”

But Virgil could tell it bugged him.

He was snappier, rougher,  _ cruder _ . More frustrated with himself when Virgil quizzed him and he got an answer wrong. Of course he was. Virgil understood completely; how could he not? His looks were so important to him, and they were failing.

It was working, though. His rank steadily climbed to #68 by the end of the week.

Virgil dropped to #20.

It didn’t bother him. Of course, it didn’t bother him how good he was getting at Evil’s homework. That little rush of satisfaction when he quizzed himself in his head along with Dolos and got a high score (a  _ higher score than Dolos _ ) didn’t affect him. The thrill of making storm clouds form and drift slightly below their bathroom ceiling, getting soaked with rain and chill, didn’t exist. It didn’t exist. 

Never did, never would.

  
  
  
  


“I’m worried about you.”

Picani laced his fingers together and tipped his chin onto the bridge formed by his hands, narrowing his eyes at Virgil in—not aggression, but concern. The two looked too similar for comfort.

Lava bubbled in the pit formed in Virgil’s stomach. The heat traveled up his spine and touched his ears, white hot  _ shame _ that made him want to scream. He ducked his head and couldn’t meet Picani’s eyes. Couldn’t see his smile. Even though Picani wasn’t wearing it, then.

“You’re completing the same coursework at the same pace, yet your grades are dropping,” said Picani. His eyes glimmered—were those tears? No, couldn’t be. Picani wouldn’t cry over something so trivial. “I want to know why.”

“I don’t know why.” His voice trembled. Picani just looked at him with his so disappointed face and sighed.

“I think we both know that isn’t true.”

Virgil stared down at his quivering hands and didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself not to cry out, not to reach over the desk and grab Picani into a hug or—just confess everything. So he didn’t speak at all.

“I have another meeting soon,” said Picani quietly. His voice broke Virgil’s heart. Defeated and resigned and patient and  _ hopeful _ . He shouldn’t waste that hope on Virgil. He was a lost cause anyway. “The other teachers think if you can’t pull your grades up, you should go back to room arrest.”

That might actually be better. 

“We should talk again soon, though, okay?” He was acting like Virgil was fragile. Like he would break and shatter at any moment.

Virgil couldn’t really disagree.

“Sure. Of course, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me sir, Virgil.”

“He calls you  _ sir _ ?”

Virgil jumped at the new voice, spinning around to find Dean Remy leaning against the door. He slurped at his drink. “None of my students call  _ me _ sir.”

“Not even Malintent? Son of Malintent, named Madrid, son of Malintent, son of Maleficent, daughter of Maleficent, daughter of Maleficent?”

“He’s named Logan,” said Remy. Virgil remembered Logan, sort of. Pointy-ish ears and fanged canines, glasses, blue scarf. Dolos complained about creepy mind tricks and blue eyes, but, as far as Virgil could tell, Logan’s eyes were brown. “And, no.”

“I—sorry, I’ll go. Thanks for talking with me, Dean Picani.” Virgil scraped his chair back, which Remy quickly claimed. “....Bye.”

He left as Remy began with, “so about that crow,” stuffed his hands in his pockets, and tried not to cry. 

  
  
  


At least it was working for Dolos. 

He had to focus on that.

_ At least it was working for Dolos. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Caellie here. So, we’ve finally posted Chapter 16, despite the eons of waiting. Sorry about that! Life gets busy from time to time. 
> 
> Here, we can see how Dolos’ manipulation has affected Virgil’s thoughts and mind (that icky, slimey snake). Virgil is now reverting back to being Dolos’ friend and his old mindset, further back even from when we started in Gavaldon (due partly to the new environment and stress), and although the seeds of his free will are slowly sprouting, it may be difficult for him to find his way out of Dolos’ web of lies and silver tongue. (Vaye’s note—ooh, poetic!)
> 
> We don’t know much of Deceit’s perspective, as it is a Virgil-centric chapter, so we don’t know what Dolos was intending for most of this. We’ll get his perspective in Ch. 17, but that starts later. This was an extremely important chapter to make. It displays how easy it is for Virgil to be swayed and manipulated, as well as how difficult it is to believe otherwise. Whether Virgil will finally break free, and whether Dolos will learn how to be better, however, are two different stories.
> 
> Meanwhile, the people around them are being affected by the two’s behavior, whether it be by disgust, concern, or indifference. Their reactions to Virgil’s and Deceit’s actions show the effects of Deceit’s manipulation on Virgil’s behavior as well. Currently, it is, quite frankly, turning into a large, complicated mess.
> 
> We hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter!! Have a good day/afternoon/night/wherever you are timezone-wise!
> 
> ~~Caellie E


	17. Dolos Would Like Everyone to Know That He's Very Much Definitely Not Having a Good Time Right Now and He Very Much Does Not Like That Fact, Thank You and Goodbye Forever

“So. Number forty-five.”

Dolos scowled, the words on the page in front of him swimming in front of his eyes like little, tiny, annoying gaggles of fish. “Yeah, so?”

Logan tilted his head at him, combined with an eyebrow raise. “I thought beauty was a full-time job.”

“Well, I decided to change career paths.” The font was too small. Dolos squinted, but that just made his head hurt more.

Joan made a mocking face. Logan shot him a look, and Dolos ignored them entirely. 

It was quiet in Vice 16. Logan and Joan whispered softly in the corner, shooting looks at him. Logan was using his talent to guess how Joan would respond, hiss his prediction, and then, if Joan nodded, proceed with the conversation, lighting up the gloomy room with flashes of blue, indigo-navy like his scarf, and his fingerglow. Joan was preoccupied with getting his own glow to work, growling in frustration.

Dolos’ pen scrabbled across his page. He was lucky if his handwriting didn’t go off the page, given the near-nonexistent space in the margins of the pages. Ink smeared across his palm when his hand slipped at the end—the nib of the pen was faulty and chipped, but it wasn’t like he could get a new one.

“People say he’s a disgrace,” said Logan. “All probabilities show it’d be more efficient to get rid of him.”

No answer from Joan. Naturally.

“Ah, yes, sure he’s useful. But he’s been more harm than good lately. He’s humiliating us, acting like a peacock with the Evers... My father thinks I should just tip him off the tower, and I am not speaking figuratively.”

Dolos wrinkled his nose. Were they talking about  _ him _ ? He continued studying.

“We could get expelled for that.” Logan sounded almost amused. “Of course,  _ I _ won’t. I’d  _ never.” _

His pen nib broke and sprayed ink over his fingers. He just stared at it, fatigue weighing his eyelids down. He couldn’t think.

Flashcards flashed through his brain.

“Perhaps we should reach out to his witch. Virgil was his name, yes? He intrigues me.”

Dolos slammed his book shut. “ _ Don’t _ touch Virgil.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at him. “Why ever not?”

Virgil was  _ his _ . Dolos had the sudden urge to throw his book across the room. He carefully, pointedly, lowered it. Virgil was  _ his _ .  _ His _ sidekick.  _ His _ overdramatic, purple-haired boy in a graveyard.  _ His _ ticket to Good.

_ His _ Good Deed.

He didn’t want to think of what would happen if Logan got close to Virgil.

(If he was in Evil forever.)

_ (If Virgil was in Good forever—) _

“If you do,” said Dolos, not answering Logan’s question, searching blindly for something that would scare them, intimidate them, and make them  _ not _ — “I’ll tell your parents, I’ll tell  _ Remy _ and the teachers that you’ve been consorting with princes, because you guys are supposed to be good at being villains, and I will  _ ruin you _ . I’ll murder you, hide your body, happily dance on your empty grave if you go near him, don’t think I won’t.”

His hands trembled.

Joan laughed, a high cackle, like a hyena, and he pointed and said, “I like that. I dare you to try it.”

Logan just looked at him evenly. Dolos met his gaze, fists quivering as he shoved them into his mattress so far he touched the bedframe. 

“Get out.”

Dolos narrowed his eyes, still staring into the eyes that outshone everything around them, swirling with calculations and deep blue. Logan was calm. Forehead perfectly smooth, no angered wrinkle, no upset downturn of his mouth, no clenched hands (not like Dolos, and what did that say?). Calm, truly calm. 

“Get out,” Logan repeated. “Leave. Now. Take your stuff and go.”

Dolos searched his eyes for a lie, but found no bluff nor bluster in those striking blue eyes. As he looked on, the blue faded, leaving never-ending brown. Like the dirt that was the foundation of a mountain. Like a dead tree still standing. 

He gathered his things and left. Walked out the door and let Joan slam it behind him, Logan’s anger-not-anger swirling around him until the moment the door closed and he was left—adrift. Bewildered, in shock. Empty? Dulled.

He sat down in the hallway and opened his textbook. Curses and Death Traps. Tomahawks and storm clouds.

He had a test the next morning. 

It was quiet in Vice 16. 

Too quiet.

  
  
  
  


“Are you okay?”

Dolos rubbed his eyes, his eyeballs aching from the strain. He blinked, blearily, in the dark, dim, nonexistent light in the hallway outside Vice 16. Nobody there. Had he been asleep?

Was he hallucinating? No, hopefully not. It was too early (or late?) to be worrying about things like that.

“Psst. Hey. Over here.”

Dolos pushed himself up, shifting on the uncarpeted floor. His back ached as he looked around. 

A hand beckoned to him from Vice 19. A bulbous, bulging eye blinked at him from the crack in the door. “Hey,” it hissed again. “Why are you in the hallway?”

Dolos didn’t have the energy for this. He smiled his best smile and winked anyway. “Why do you want to know?”

The door creaked open and Gert slid out, twisting her pajamas (a onesie, spotted with sickly green frogs) in her hands. She looked at him hopefully. “You look like you could use some help…”

Dolos didn’t need her help. He didn’t need  _ anyone _ ’s help. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “What kind of help? Why?”

Gert seemed caught off-guard. She hadn’t been expecting to be questioned. Too bad. “Oh, I just—really admire you. And the way you made those outfits. You were so resourceful, and…”

And he was pretty. Well, good to know it worked, even if not on the right audience. Dolos pulled himself to his feet and gathered his books in his arms.

“So I’d like to offer my room. I don’t have any roommates, and I have some extra blankets I can give you—”

Dolos swept past her and shut her own door in her face, ignoring the startled shrieks as he examined the place. Small, kind of cramped. Cozy. It smelled like rotten eggs for some reason—oh, right. Hadn’t she gotten sprayed by a skunk at some point? He hadn’t been paying attention.

Gert pounded on the door, but he didn’t let her back in, locking everything up before collapsing on a bed that smelled of sweat and skunk. 

He had to study, but he couldn’t get himself to move once he’d laid down. 

So he didn’t.  
  
  


“You’re number thirty seven,” said Virgil. The bags under his eyes were probably big enough to fit Dolos’ frustration. Maybe they’d stretch. “If you want to get into the Trial by Tale, you have to step up your game.”

“Why do I have to?” Dolos sighed. “It’s just a challenge. Who cares?”

“Delilah’s  _ definitely _ getting in, and what’s a better way to show you’re better than Roman than being picked to guard her?” Virgil pointed out. He flipped a page in his textbook, tapping a pen to the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you wanted to… prove yourself to the villains, right?”

_ “People say he’s a disgrace. All probabilities show it’d be more efficient to get rid of him.” _

“Right.” Dolos rolled over on the grass, kicking at the roots of the tree they were laying against. “Right. Good job, Virgil.”

Virgil lit up, eyes twinkling, even if it wasn’t a full smile.

“You’re talking to him?”

Dolos sat up, putting on the most dripping grin he could. “Hello, Delilah.”

Delilah blinked at him from under lowered eyelashes. She’d done her makeup up sharply that day and framed her eyelids in yellow shadow to match her bow. “Hey there Dolos, You’re looking very nice today.”

Dolos pinched at his coat sleeves, grinning. “Why, thank you, love. You’re quite the looker yourself— _ love _ what you did with your hair today.” He touched a strand, let his fingers trace the ringlet down to where it sprung in a coil by her shoulders.

She giggled, and Virgil to turned his head away from the conversation. Good. Dolos didn’t want him to get involved—his lack of charm would only make things worse.

Still made Dolos feel a bit uncomfortable though, just having him being there. 

“I do have a favor to ask of you, my lady, a small one! Don’t worry.” He smiled, laughing, his eyes never leaving hers. Logan and Joan were talking in the corner of his vision, but there were people watching him, too. This was a performance.

Delilah’s responding chuckle wa slight and airy and delicate, and she shifted on the grass to face him more fully. “I was never worried. What is it, prince?”

She’d left out the  _ my _ .

“Suppose I earn the top spot.” When he picked up a glass from her lunch he felt her eyes on his fingers, even as he dropped his own to study what he was holding like it was much more interesting than her, or the people watching. “Would you be favorable towards granting a wish of mine?”

“If you get the top spot, I’ll agree to anything you want,” she practically purred. 

“...anything?”  _ Like a proposal to the Snow Ball? _

“Anything.”

“You spoil me.” But that was what he wanted, right? Delilah had moved closer to him, close enough for Dolos to take her hand and let himself look mesmerized by her eyes. They were blue. Sharp blue, crystal blue, clear oceans but not a lake. Not like Gavaldon’s lake.

“Of course, Dolos…” was murmured, almost lost in the wind. He still heard it, leaned in on the pretense of not having been able to. 

Where was Roman, in all of this?

A cough interrupted their moment, sending attention to the dark-haired boy, who was trying to quietly read through their textbook, and failing miserably.

_ Woods _ beyond. That uncomfortable feeling was back. He wanted to garner attention, why was Virgil’s so centipede-crawly up his spine? Why now?

Delilah wrinkled her nose at Virgil. “Why are  _ you _ still here? Dolos, make him go away.”

Virgil’s eyes whipped to him and Dolos momentarily hesitated. Virgil was  _ his _ . 

But then Delilah pressed closer to him and pouted and said, “ _ Do _ -los!” and he folded.

“Later, Virgil.”

“But—”

“ _ Later _ .”

Virgil scurried away like he’d been kicked. Well, Dolos might as well have kicked him. Something sank in his stomach, next to flashing katanas and eyes that were brown, and certainly not the gorgeous blue currently staring at him. 

“I really don’t know what you see in him,” Delilah sighed. She twirled a lock of her hair in her finger and pulled it down, letting it spring up again in a loose curl that quickly unraveled in her fingers so she could start the process again.

“You have to look,” he sighed. “You have to look really hard.”

She scoffed. “All I can see is his ugly face.”

Sometimes, Dolos had to agree.

The Trial was slowly, but surely, creeping up on them. Dolos smelled it in the air, tasted it, as tension grew higher. More people crowded around the rankings list during Lunch each day until Dolos could barely push into the tree tunnel to get back to School. 

The challenges got more important and more difficult. Now, instead of just being a rank on a wall and a promise that one day they’d matter, it became the determining factor that decided whether they’d qualify for the Trial or not. At 8, Dolos would qualify. At 78, Virgil would not, and he’d have no chance of pulling up his score. Not at the rate he was going.

“You have to enter with Delilah,” said Virgil, brushing away flecks of dried ink on his fingers. “Or, at least, before Roman. You just need to survive until Roman inevitably comes charging in, and then you can ride off of him.”

He got put back on room arrest so he could ditch his classes and sneak him answers as a crow right outside the window, chattering in some old code he made Dolos learn that he found in a textbook. It was cheating.

It was working.

Dolos shot up to 2 on the Evil ranking’s board after Virgil wrote him an essay for Surviving Fairy Tales that got full marks, surpassing Roman. Delilah’s eyes glinted when she looked at him now. Roman’s did, too. He shook his head and redirected his focus on the crow hopping along a cerulean tree branch as Chir began one-on-one duels in preparation for the trial.

Vultoor glared at him from behind wrinkled, swollen, tired eyelids, wings flared to the side. A lightning bolt the color of violets electrocuted him so badly he fell over.

“Magnificent, Dolos, but you should use approved spells,” said Delilah from her match with Dusa, interrupting Chir before he could even begin. She flicked her fingers, and a flock of birds came to peck at Dusa’s snakes.

“Why?” Dolos shot a look at Virgil, who guiltily lowered the wing lit up by purple fingerglow. “In the real world, I’d never have the restrictions of this  _ school,  _ and Sei deserves it anyway.” Lie. But the other students were looking at him and listening in, and he was playing the part of the misunderstood, troubled teenager who just needed a bit of love to come out of his shell, so Delilah could take the credit for his transformation. Classic Beauty and the Beast.

_ The beast’s red eyes haunted his sleep. _

“It’s kind,” said Delilah simply as her birds tried to pluck out one of Dusa’s eyes. She screamed. Dolos didn’t pay much attention to it.

“He doesn’t deserve kindness.” His scowl felt plastered on, and Delilah’s soft smile seemed so obviously fake, but the clearing seemed to hold its breath as she took one of his hands.

Dusa’s pained shrieks lingered in the background. They were ignored.

“Then do it for me.”

Dolos stared at her, letting his eyebrows scrunch and his eyes dart between hers, holding it for one second, two, three, until the whole thing appeared so staged to him that he wanted to point and laugh at everyone else for being so captivated. 

“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “For  _ you _ .”

Delilah’s fingers lingered on his hands, but there was no warmth in it. She called her birds away and Dusa crumpled, blood trickling from a cut under her eye. Chir healed it with an indifferent wave of his stick, and they all rotated partners. 

She was fine. She seemed fine.

Why should Dolos care?

“That was so  _ sweet _ ,” Roman hissed as they passed, and Dolos grinned back, heart singing at the attention.

“Really?” he asked, even though he knew what Roman would say.

“You should be an actor,” Roman confirmed. “That was beautiful. Gorgeous. Couldn’t have done it better myself.” 

But then Dolos had to pretend to freeze Adri’s lips shut so she couldn’t call for an animal to save her, and the moment was over.

It stayed with him in his dreams.

No one had to know.  
  
  


Roman and Delilah worked harder, both with their faces eyebrow-deep in books at lunch. Delilah had less time for him. 

Roman, on the other hand, seemed to have more.

“It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?” He gave Dolos a lunch pail and turned to spread his arms. Delilah had gone off with a few select members of her court to study in private, leaving the two of them alone. Virgil’s crow hopped a short distance away, clacking, his white swan flashing in the sun. He had to keep turning to the shadows to stop it, and Dolos couldn’t help but think if he’d had a black swan, he wouldn’t have had this problem.

“Roman and Dolos, the glimmering golden boy versus the misunderstood shadow man, fighting for Delilah’s favor.” Roman turned, lips cocked in a half-smirk. “Is it bad that I don’t want to fight you?” 

“Yes,” Dolos said shortly, because if he’d said anything else, he might have had a different answer and  _ he was here for Delilah he was fighting for Delilah not Roman not Roman not Roman— _

He distracted himself by watching Virgil’s clicks, parsing out the letters ( _ F-O-C-U—) _ , but Roman caught his scanning eye and his smile fell.

“Looking for the witch?” he asked, scowling. “I don’t know why you bother with him.”

“He has his uses,” Dolos said absently, as Virgil the crow hopped agitatedly in the branches. “You just need to look harder.”

They were sitting under a tree on Good’s side, next to the one reserved for the court. It hadn’t been formed today, everyone either with their nose in a book or placing bets on who’d win. It was an important time, after all, and no one wanted to be left out of the loop.

Sei and Vix kept glancing at him, huddled in a corner with the bluntly-titled  _ Murder Spells. _

Was it colder today, than it had been yesterday? He swore there was a sharp chill in the air, that hadn't been there before.

Maybe it was just him.

“I suppose that makes you better than me,” said Roman. “That you can see his Goodness.”

Dolos was lying. But he had to act surprised, so he widened his eyes and said, “You can’t?”

“Just his scowl and that... awful hair. Why in the _name_ of the Woods did you let him dye it that shade? It’s like a bruise. A faded bruise. Filled with moldy eggplants and bad dreams and sadness, ew.” Roman made an exaggerated disgusted face, all squished up frowny eyes and his tongue poking out of his mouth.

And Dolos, safe at 8, locked eyes with the crow who was dropping closer to 100 every minute. The crow stilled, watching him, and Dolos weighed his options. 

Delilah didn’t care about Goodness. Neither, it seemed, did Roman. 

Delilah was smart, wickedly so, and cunning too. She knew what it took to not only survive in the Woods, but  _ thrive _ in it. She found smart, capable people in both Good and Evil and settled herself for a life of quiet string-pulling behind the scenes, with favors from both schools ready to be called in at any sign of danger. She was content as the power behind the throne, and all she needed now was the throne itself. Roman could have gotten her all this easily—Dolos had to make sacrifices in order to become worthy of her, of being Roman’s equal. And, of course, to have a chance with her at all. That was the main objective, after all.

“You know, Roman,” he said slowly, “I hate to say it, but…”

Now, Dolos had to choose between Virgil and Delilah. He stared at the crow, meeting his eyes and—Virgil was afraid. Virgil was cowardly.

(He knew when to pick the winning side. When to not feel guilty.)

_ Weak, needy, witch. _

(He wouldn't feel guilty for this.)

“You may have a point.”

  
  
They had an assembly the next morning. Lycastus and Parrhasius wobbled in on wolf legs, heads squished next to each other. Virgil sat next to Patton and Talyn, but wasn’t looking at them. Dolos sat alone.

“Once a year,” Parrhasius began, fitting his snout over Lycastus’ in order to speak, ignoring his enraged growls, “we send our top fifteen Evers and Nevers group into the Blue Woods, a test of courage, strength, and, above all, potential. A student must survive both the Schoolmaster’s traps  _ and _ the other side’s attacks until morning, upon which they will receive five additional first-place ranks. With that out of the way, let’s review the rules!”

Dolos immediately tuned that out, focusing instead on Virgil, who sat hunched over in his chair. Patton and Talyn both made it in at 3 and 5 respectively. Logan and Joan did, too, at 2 and 4. He didn’t know where he was, or where Virgil was. Butterflies curled in his stomach and his knee jiggled. Delilah looked over at him and he stilled it. Not now. Not  _ now _ . 

“Now, the competitors!”

Dolos sat up. Virgil did, too.

“From the Evers, starting with the lowest ranked, Edward, Edmund, Genevieve, Dominic, Adri…”

Dolos waited, tense, as Parrhasius ran through thirteen Evers Dolos didn’t care about. Patton and Talyn both made it in. They gave each other fist-bumps and glanced at Virgil, who hadn’t appeared on the list.

Delilah was chosen second-to-last. She betrayed no sense of relief or gratitude, just sat, poised in her pink-glass pew, and accepted the praise of Mary, Grace, and Evelyn, and all the other Evergirls Dolos never bothered to know.

Roman was first and the room seemed to sigh, like his presence assured them victory now that it was announced, even though he’d been occupying the number 1 spot practically since he’d arrived. Parrhasius ended the list, and the Ever side cheered so loudly Dolos thought his ears would fall off.

Parrhasius cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s—”

The cheering didn’t stop. In the corner, Logan rolled his eyes. 

Edward stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Evers rule! Evers rule! Evers—”

“Just—” Parrhasius staggered as Lycastus rose on their back legs, red eyes flaring.

“Evers are idiotic cowards who should  _ SHUT UP! _ ”

The cheering stopped. Edward sat down.

Parrhasius pushed Lycastus to the other side of their neck and cleared his throat again. “Thank you. Representing the Nevers!”

And the whole thing started again. Eyes were boring into the back of Dolos’ head; he turned and met Roman’s steady gaze.

_ What, _ he mouthed.

_ I’m competing _ , Roman mouthed back. He looked happy. 

_ I know, _ Dolos responded,  _ I was there _ . Virgil watched them, glancing between them like he was trying to force their conversation into the open where he could hear. Dolos stopped him with a glare. It was none of his business.

Roman made a face.  _ Ha-ha-ha. _

“Jamahl,” Parrhasius droned. “Quill. Joan, Sei, Logan, and Dolos. Let’s go over the rules,” he said quickly, before the Nevers could start cheering—but, of course, they didn’t.

They just stared.

(Sei seethed.)

Logan and Joan muttered to each other. The grin Roman gave him was intoxicating, but the whispers drowned it out in an avalanche of  _ “Dolos, Dolos, Dolos the fake Everboy, Dolos the traitor, cheater, liar,  _ **_prince_ ** ” that Dolos couldn’t bring himself to shrink into himself for. 

His name was first.

_ He was first _ .

Parrhasius lectured on about handkerchiefs and fireworks and Ever-Never pairs, but Dolos didn’t hear any of it.  _ First _ . That was all he could hear, echoing in his mind. The other students stood up, so he did, too, and found himself standing in front of Sei.

“You’re  _ dead _ ,” Sei spat, his voice a low rasp, and Dolos had to fight to stay calm (it was a losing battle and he knew it and everyone knew it and they were  _ looking at him _ deep breaths, deep breaths, look him in the eyes).

“I am?” asked Dolos mildly, Nevers streaming behind him to go to morning classes that suddenly mattered a whole lot more. He patted at his shoulders and black swan, raising fake-surprised eyebrows. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’re making a fool out of all of us,” Sei said, his face drawn into a sneer. Behind him were Vix and Dusa and three other Nevers Dolos didn’t know the names of. “Number one ‘Never’ flirting with a princess and wearing  _ suits _ . A villain’s story doesn’t end well, so let me remind you—your little princess, then your prince, then you, and I’ll make you watch all of it.”

“Parrhasius said we won’t die.” The words rang in Dolos’ ears. Handkerchiefs and fireworks and surrender and names vanishing off boards—there were safety systems in place, prevention measures.

“Parrhasius can’t  _ stop us _ . And if you have any honor or courage in that chicken-seed tunic of yours, you won’t surrender.”

Sei bumped Dolos’ shoulder as he left, making his bones ache and the room spin around him. The lights were too bright. The noise was too loud. Everything was titled on an axis, bent.

_ “People say he’s a disgrace. All probabilities show it’d be more efficient to get rid of him.” _

Dolos spun, breathing heavy, and found his hands grasped by Roman. His brown eyes swallowed Dolos whole, steadying him.

_ Roman was here. Roman could fix this. _

Roman clapped his hands, grinning. “You made it! Is that great?!”

“Yay…” Dolos replied, his mind far away, but, no, he shook his head. “They’re going to kill us.”

“What?” Roman laughed, and Dolos snatched at his fingers and made him be serious.

“Roman, they’re going to murder us and paint the gates with our blood,  _ Roman _ , they’re going to kill Delilah and then you then me then make me watch it and we’ll have to fight against each other—”

“Woah, who said anything about fighting  _ each other _ ?” 

“Delilah—”

“Delilah likes  _ both _ of us, it’d be a pity if we killed each other before she decides,” Roman said easily (Dolos envied his ease—). “Besides, I know I’d help you if you needed it.”

“Yeah,” Dolos said, voice empty, his eyes unfocused. “I would, too.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Get in first, and we can all enter within an hour of each other.”

Right. The next fifteen challenges would dictate their order. Pairs of Evers and Nevers went one after the other, fifteen minutes apart, with top Never and second-top Never paired and likewise for the Evers. Roman and Delilah were entering with each other, undoubtedly. Now it just mattered how far behind Dolos was.

Roman could have up to three hours alone with Delilah.

_ (Delilah could have up to three hours alone with Roman. _ )

Dolos had sent Virgil away—no, this was fine. Who needed Virgil? 

“Yeah,” said Dolos. “First place.”

He was number 1 out of all the villains. How hard could it be?

  
  


Harder than it should have been.

  
  


In Uglification, Professor Han told the fifteen competing Nevers to create a disguise so terrible, so frightening, that an Evergirl would shriek in terror and promptly die of fright.

Logan drank a paste that turned his skin so thin, his veins pulsed through, and all his bones poked out of his face and lolled flaring eyes in his sunken skull so they cast blue light all over his fanged teeth and ragged, pointed ears.

Joan made some form of potion and poured it over his head, where he promptly started growing more hands stretching all over his body, tugging at his skin, pulling his eyes down and lips up as he sent Sei twenty-some copies of the same rude gesture. 

Dolos tried to recall the potion for shingles and smushed tadpoles, but somehow gave himself a glimmering horn and strung his hair with strands of shimmering gold and pink instead. He stared at his hands, then the bowl, plucking at his horn in confusion.

“Because every Evergirl would be scared to  _ death _ by glitter,” Sei hissed, his newly-grown demon’s tail snapping through the air and breaking a desk.

Fifteen out of fifteen.

In Henchmen, the trial-chosen Nevers had to hold a decent conversation with a fire giant, a big, bulging thing that drooled trails of molten fire. 

Dolos got distracted and told the fire giant it had beautiful eyes.

That normally would have worked for him if it hadn't been a fire giant specifically, a creature that “saw” through its skin, picking up heat signatures and transferring them into a mental map of its surroundings. 

It didn’t have eyes.

Castor reluctantly intervened before the giant ate him.

Fifteen out of fifteen, again.

Remy asked his Nevers to name a spell that could only be undone by the caster. They all held up tablets with their answers carved into the ice. Logan said petrification. Joan just had an arrow pointing at Logan with “that one spell that turns people into stone that’s Dusa’s talent or something” underneath. Sei had petrification, too.

Dolos hadn’t even managed to carve out his answer. 

“This’ll be easier than I thought,” Sei said as he left.

“You are not talking to Virgil,” said Logan. “Why?”

“Why do you care?”

Logan’s eyes flashed. Dolos watched him go and shivered.

Fifteen out of fifteen, three in a row. A failing grade if it hadn’t been trial time. During the lead-up, the wait for the trial, _oh, it's just a death penalty_.

Sei’s eyes hadn’t stopped gleaming the whole day.

“What’s happening with you?” Roman hissed as he and Delilah pushed Dolos through the Ever’s lunch line, snatching up a spare picnic basket from the wolves.

“You act like you want to be sent in three hours early,” Delilah hummed. She didn’t look nearly as distressed as Roman did, but, of course, Roman had gotten top scores in his challenges. She still had his protection as long as she found him once she entered.

“Maybe I do,” Dolos snapped, because he’d just seen Virgil sitting with his back against a tree, Patton and Talyn aggravatingly close, and reading a book about topics Dolos  _ knew _ they weren’t going to be covering in class for another three weeks. 

“What?” Delilah said, startled for the first time Dolos had ever seen. Huh. Seemed as though she had real emotions after all.

“What?” Roman repeated, his eyes wide and—and hurt? That was a surprise. Talyn reached over and touched Virgil’s arm. Patton had vanished from view.

Logan hadn’t made an appearance, but Joan was lurking near Talyn. Where were they?

Dolos had to explain himself.

So he shook his head, harshly, leaning in to the hand Roman put on his shoulder. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. There are… whispers... in the Vice common room. They think I’m riding off of you, that I’m faking all of it—I’m  _ not _ . I’m—I’m not.”

“We believe you,” Delilah said. “Of course we believe you.”

Lies. But was Delilah lying, too? Dolos peered into her blue eyes, unsure. “I want to win the trial of my own merits, but I also want  _ you _ to win with me.”  _ Not Roman. _ “I figure,” Dolos continued, “the best outcome is that I survive long enough that I prove myself, and the whispers stop. If I enter three hours early, that’s three hours I live by myself, without you there to even  _ possibly _ be a crutch.”

“What a foolish thing, to risk your life based on the whispers of others,” Delilah said, but her eyes glimmered. She understood. She  _ believed _ him.

“What a foolish thing,” Dolos mocked, because he had to keep up appearances, “to run and hide for something as trivial as life and school when reputation can last after death.”

“Don’t drop your handkerchief,” Delilah said.

And they parted ways.

Virgil hadn’t looked at him once.  
  


Dolos traipsed up the stairs of Vice, his feet heavy underneath him. He’d taken Gert’s key and locked her out, but she had a habit of trying to push her way through when he opened the door, and he wanted to get to his room before she even got into the hallway.

He turned the corner, yawned, and stopped dead in his tracks.

His clothes hung from nooses like empty, swaying corpses, tied by their collars to the ceiling. On the wall, painted in dripping red, jagged words that spelled  **_LONG LIVE THE KING_ ** . 

The room was drenched with the smell of blood.

Challengers were fitted for their trial robes the next day, something Dolos longed to pay attention to. The fabric felt silky under his hands, slippery—silk wasn’t kept in heat, so it’d be cold, did that matter? The tunics were dark blue with an iron weave, kept loose so they could move, but then why not cut away the arms entirely? Did  _ that _ matter? Blue lined with red, were there any significant values to the colors, was it chosen so they’d blend in, but why the red inside? What did it mean? Was it a clue, or fashion, or practicality? 

Did any of it matter?

Dolos forced himself to bury his head in notes for Remy’s class while the fairies fluttered around him, ignoring his grumbling stomach. He had to get a better rank this time. He didn’t want to enter  _ last _ , no matter what he’d declared for all the Woods to hear at lunch the day before.

Not for Delilah, or his reputation, or anyone else. For himself. Only himself. Purely for his pride, and nothing else.

He turned the page of his book and blocked out all thoughts of brown, deep, doe eyes that so blatantly contradicted him.

“A villain does villainous things—kills, manipulates, slaughters, the like—for one purpose, and  _ one _ purpose alone,” said Remy as Dolos hastily scribbled down everything on paper stained with his ink-blotched fingers. “To defeat your nemesis, your opposite in Good, you got me? The force that grows stronger as you grow weaker, the force that balances you out perfectly. Only when your nemesis is ruined will you feel, like...  _ satisfied _ . Everyone has a counter in Good, but not everyone has a  _ nemesis _ , someone fate has specifically set up to counter you in everything you do. Of those who don’t, well, count yourself lucky, love. Taking a life affects everything you do, if you do it right, if you allow yourself to feel it.”

Logan snorted at that. “How can mourning your enemy’s death forever be anything but weak?”

Remy cast him an admonishing look but didn’t call him out for interrupting. He didn’t answer the question either.

Dolos’ pen never stopped. His notes were looking less like notes and more like a transcript of all his classes, words mixing with other words like the black version of winding, thorny, vines. 

“Doing it wrong would be the highest, purest form of mindless evil,” Remy said, voice quiet for once. “None of you, I hope, would ever think to do something like that.”

_ The beast’s red eyes haunted his sleep _ .

That was different. The beast deserved it, and, besides, Dolos was a prince doling out justice, righteousness, Goodness. The rules were different for the Good. 

Sei exchanged conspiratorial glances with the others. Vix, Dusa, Voltuur. Joan.

Joan was in on this? Logan and Joan both, then. One was never seen without the other.

“But the trial by tale is a harmless exercise,” Remy said, very obviously forcing his voice to become cheerful again. “And the Schoolmaster insists! So.” He clapped his hands and conjured the illusion of a princess probably only twelve years old, wearing a beautifully bouncy tulle dancing skirt. 

She waved at them.

Joan waved back.

“Whoever makes her cry, die, or run in the most creative way possible wins. Vix! You first.”

“Finally, something useful,” Sei muttered, eying Dolos in a way he didn’t like, all glaring and smug and like Sei had already won, and Dolos was already just a corpse floating down Evil’s moat, never to be seen again. 

Remy summoned an illusion-door to hide the princess from view, and the challenge began. 

Vix tried to simply open the door, but couldn’t. Dusa knocked, but was immediately sent away by the illusion-guards. Dolos watched it all, as Vultoor disguised himself as a travelling merchant and gave the princess a poisoned lipstick sample, before Vix turned into a dog, weaselled his way into the house, and tried to eat her (she ran screaming, bumped into Sei, and squeaked a cheerful, “Oh, pardon me!”). Joan mogrified into a cute squirrel and offered her a balloon. 

“Why, thank you!” the princess cooed as she rose into the air and popped into red mist filled with icicle spikes. 

“Dolos next!” Sei announced. Remy stared at him for a long, awkward moment, and sighed.

“Dolos is next.”

Dolos stiffened in his chair. “...what?”

“Oh, how dreadful, another challenge failed,” Sei said, staring him down. “I wonder if you’ll even survive to the next hour like this.”

Dolos snapped himself up and stalked to the door, clenching and unclenching his hands. For Delilah, for his reputation, for  _ Roman _ , he would succeed. It was a fake princess anyway. 

His finger glowed yellow.

Until,  _ “Long live the king,” _ Sei hissed, to a smattering of laughter, and Dolos saw red.

How  _ dare _ they? How dare they? How dare they put him here, how dare they presume that they knew everything about him, how dare they lure him into their school for Good and Evil and then have the  _ audacity _ to mix him up, to confuse him with Virgil, when they couldn’t be any more different? He thought everything would change when he came here, he thought, finally, things would be different and he could just be  _ him _ . Glorious, wonderful him, in a place where he belonged, and instead…

The floor rumbled.

Instead...

The ceiling shook. The floors shuddered.

_ Instead. _

Instead he was  _ stuck here, alone, with nobody who knew him _ and he was  _ angry, so angry, so angry at the world _ because he thought this would be better and it  _ should have been better. _ Why wasn’t it  _ better _ ? Why wasn’t he good enough yet? Why wasn’t everything perfect and wonderful like it should’ve been why did he have to work so hard to make it perfect and wonderful like it should’ve been why couldn’t people just listen to him and be there for him and why did he have to pretend to be a sulking, scowling, misunderstood shadowling  _ mess _ just to get a date to a Snow Ball he wasn’t even invited to? And he wanted to bring the whole school down with him, burn down the Woods until they knew exactly what he felt.

He tasted blood. A face swirled in his stormy vision, milky white, pale with death.

“Dolos!  _ Dolos! _ ”

“Somebody catch him!”

Hands shook his shoulders as Dolos’ vision sank into darkness.

Another fifteen for sure.  
  


Before the day of the trial, all classes were cancelled so the competing students could explore the Blue Woods. Delilah stayed stuck to his and Roman’s sides, staring piercingly at their competition as they passed through a thick grove and into an open field of pumpkins.

“It’s very brave of you to try to survive on your own,” she said, touching a blue pumpkin stem lightly. “I have to admit that.”

Dolos shrugged his shoulders as Roman draped his arms over both of them, pushing Roman off (too close, they were too close, that was not what a prince should do, princes didn’t hug other princes-). “I want to prove myself.”

“We won’t drop our handkerchiefs,” Roman swore, again. “No surrender!”

“No surrender!” Delilah cheered sweetly. If used, the red handkerchiefs could take them out of a competition when they touched ground. Dolos planned to hide his in his sleeve. 

Easy access.

“So, you’re entering first, yeah?” Roman said, nudging Dolos’ shoulder as they passed through the grove of pumpkins and back into the forest. “Lowest rank?”

Dolos nodded stiffly. “With Gert.”

“Can’t believe she made it in,” Delilah muttered to the ground. “She has no tact or subtlety.”

“During a challenge, her tunic got pulled over her head,” Dolos said absently. The clouds were tinged blue from the sky, bluish-grayish-white. Everything was blue, blue, blue. Dolos longed for some green or—purple. 

Roman looked appalled—Dolos had misstepped and he hurried to correct himself. “The Nevers just laughed. I think that’s what they’re like. They’re Evil, after all.”

Roman just stared, blinking slowly, and Dolos’s mind struggled to catch up to what he wanted to hear and—oh. He hadn’t done anything. He’d averted his eyes, scrunched up his nose, but nothing more. Roman was waiting for him to say, “but I helped her, of course,” or, “but I didn’t,” and “I wouldn’t,” and “I’m not like them,” and Dolos hadn’t. He’d just stood there, not even paying that much attention to her, other than sparing a glance.

“Did you help her?” Delilah asked, voice suddenly sharp. 

“Of course!” Dolos said indignantly, conjuring the sound from somewhere other than himself because, really, why would he have helped  _ Gert _ ? She clearly hadn’t cared.“I turned away and caught the edge of her hem when she ran by. If her face is that ugly already, I can’t imagine what the rest of her looks like.”

Lies, all lies, except for the last part. Delilah stifled a dainty laugh and Roman’s lips turned up into a smirk and Dolos sank back into their acceptance, on edge and wary. He couldn’t mess up like that again. It could risk  _ everything _ he had worked so hard to gain if he did.

Why did Delilah care about some Nevergirl? Why on Earth would the dignity of a villain matter to a princess? But Delilah still looked uncomfortable, and it wasn’t like Dolos could just  _ ask _ .

“We should split up,” Roman said, after five minutes of walking.

“What? Why?”

“You’ll be on your own for three hours, except for that Nevergirl,” said Delilah, already switching to Roman’s arm. “We want you to feel comfortable on your own.”

“You’ll be on your own for fifteen minutes,” Dolos pointed out, since she’d dropped to third in the last challenge because Talyn had beaten her in Beautification. Delilah bobbed her head, making the ringlets in her curly hair bounce with her.

“I’ll move later. Really, though, first place villain entering first? It does sound like you were cheating.”

Dolos scowled, guilt and nervousness rioting in his gut  _ (what if they found out what would they do if they realized what would happen to him what would they think _ ). “I wasn’t.”

“We know!” Roman chirped, giving him a smile. 

“I do believe I owe you something, though,” Delilah said, lowering her voice like Roman would stop hearing. “For the first part.”

“You do,” said Dolos. He began to speak, to ask her,  _ let me take you to the Snow Ball _ , but before he could, Delilah put a blue-nailed finger on his lips.

“After,” she promised. “Ask me after. Survive until then, okay? Prove yourself like you were talking about earlier.”

Dolos let them wander away, and the moment they were out of sight, he grabbed at his hair and  _ panicked _ .

He’d die, he was going to die, he was going to turn into a name on a bronze framed picture with his name a label next to it, nobody would hear from him again, he was gonna die alone, he was going to be shoved in a coffin and be buried in the Never uniform with a black swan over his heart, and  _ this wasn’t what he’d planned _ —

Somewhere nearby, footfalls began scurrying away from Dolos’ meltdown. He called out, before they could get very far.

“Patton!”

Patton turned and his smile fell, Talyn crossing her  _ (her, her, HER _ ) arms and scowling through her glasses. “What do you want?” she snapped.

“I need you to take a message to Virgil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness that was a long wait! Sorry about that. We like stockpiling our chapters before posting a new one, and there was a bit of chaos near the end of the year that distracted us from writing 18 and 19. (C: yeah, no, sorry guys, this one’s on me- again. Let’s just say life likes barging in at the most inconvenient times.) So, actually 17 was finished way before this and we’re just now posting it. We aren’t dead (C: not yet anyway), and this fic isn’t (nor, hopefully, will ever be) abandoned! We’re too close to the end of this segment for that.  
> Anyway, aside from that, fun things about this chapter! We’re going to get Virgil’s perspective after all this, including some things that got lost in the mix and the Trial by Tale (that’ll be next chapter and it also makes 18 !) itself, but also some fun new perspectives on scenes we already have, such as that part with Dusa and Delilah! I personally thought it was hilarious that Dolos was having his Moment (™) while there was all this commotion going on behind him, so yes, Dusa is still being attacked while he and Delilah are looking into each other’s eyes. Virgil will give his perspective on all that.  
> Are some of the lines in this cheesy? Yes, probably, very much so. But Dolos and Delilah’s little exchange (“What a foolish thing”) among others was pretty and we are but crows and our hoards pretty lines that sound like they should be whispered in gold into the morning air by the wooden pipes of philosophers and I just didn’t want to get rid of them, even though they’re probably much too overdramatic. Fight me, I have the power of friendship and Caellie on my side. (C: It’s true!)  
> Dolos is having his first dip into the dark side here (the true dark side, that is). He’s getting desperate and noticing how people are slipping away from him. The traditional princely things (looks, superficial chivalry, a common enemy) aren’t cutting it anymore, or just barely. You’ll notice Delilah’s reaction to his story about what happened to Gert—she’s decided both he and Roman are sufficiently princely for her. Now it’s up to who would truly protect her when it comes down to it. If what happened to Gert ever happened to her, how would they protect her? Even though Roman isn’t doing so great in terms of… Virgil, he would have definitely stood up for her modesty (even though Nevers have a very different view of their bodies and were laughing at Gert’s failure and the way she was running around rather than her body and he wouldn’t have needed to in that specific circumstance because of it). Dolos doesn’t care about people’s needs past himself, how helping them can help him, but if he’d told the truth he would have failed that particular test, and he knows it. This isn’t his darkest point, but it’s the true beginning of his negative cycle.  
> Similarly, now that he semi-cut Virgil out, in 18 you’ll begin to notice Virgil getting a bit better. Not a lot, and not by much, but it’s a start, and it’s important for later works.  
> Hmm, what else? We changed up the Trial rules a bit from the original book to work with how our Sophie and Tedros are the same gender now in Dolos and Roman, but we were also attempting to avoid exposition-dumping, so if anything didn’t make sense or contradicts let us know in the comments and we’ll make the necessary edits and explain it to you as best we can.  
> Also, does anybody remember Nemesis dreams? They’re really starting to appear now, so you might want to keep an eye out.  
> So, that’s pretty much it for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed, and I hope 18 is out soon! It should be, all things considered, but then again we thought that too with 17 and look what happened then? Thank you for reading, and have a great day!  
> —Vaye Rue

**Author's Note:**

> (at end) Hello! As you can probably tell, a few things are changed. Caellie and I (Vaye) decided that it would be better to change everyone’s names instead of just a select few to make it fully clear that this is not SGE. It is SGE + TS Sides. A mix. And, well, it’d be weird to have Reaper just shoved in there along with Virgil, or, at least, it seemed weird to us, so we named him Azrael. Callis is going to have a different name as well (and be much more unstable than before). We also named Deceit "Dolos" after the Greek god/spirit/embodiment/whatever of deceit and lies. Other options were Janus or Mendacious (the Roman version) or Apate, but Dolos was picked both for the simple good-soundingness and how similar it sounded to Deceit. I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> ~Vaye


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